


Beautiful Death

by Accidental_Ducky



Series: Beautiful Monsters [1]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Everybody dyin' in this house, F/M, James March and Sally make an appearance, Psychopaths and Sociopaths, Some mentions of other seasons, Twincest, murder twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:23:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 45,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5399303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidental_Ducky/pseuds/Accidental_Ducky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a curious sensation, drowning; your lungs on fire even as you try to suck in air on instinct. Only, instead of the precious air your body craves, you inhale water—warm and wet and suffocating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flecks of Blood

**1994**

I stare down at the water filling the bathtub, dipping the tips of my fingers into the warm liquid and sending ripples across the otherwise smooth surface. It's funny how such a small thing can cause such a large effect on everything. There's still flecks of blood on my face and in my blonde hair, the crimson standing out in stark relief against the pale gold. I bite my lip, observing my reflection do the same. _What will happen now that my twin's gone?_

"Why so sad, Tabby?" Tate's reflection joins mine in the water, his face clean of any blood that had been there before.

"You know why," I answer in a whisper without turning to face him. "Am I going crazy?"

"No, you've never been crazy." He rests his hands on my shoulders, the cold of his skin seeping through the thin cotton of my nightgown. "You should take a bath and get the blood out before it dries; I know how much you hate it in your hair. It does look really good on you, though." He tilts his head to the side, crouching down so that his face is next to mine. "You should wear crimson more often." I close my eyes, lips curled into a smile as I lean back against his hard chest.

"You're so cold now, Tate."

"I won't be for long." His lips press against the soft skin of my cheek in a kiss, his arms moving until they encircled me in a sort of hug with my arms pressed against my sides. "Just relax, Tabby Cat, and let me do all the work." I didn't get much time to contemplate what he had said before I was pushed into the bathtub, Tate's hands keeping my head under the water. It's a curious sensation, drowning; your lungs on fire even as you try to suck in air on instinct. Only, instead of the precious air your body craves, you inhale water—warm and wet and suffocating. My hair floats around my head, my nightgown clinging to my body, and my limbs staying perfectly still.

I don't see any point in a struggle, at least this way it saves me from buying drugs to overdose on like I had originally planned. Hey, this isn't suicide either, so I have a chance to slip past the bouncer and into the pearly white city called Heaven. I mentally laugh at that, knowing that I'd likely go south and meet the Devil firsthand for what I've done in my short life. Seventeen years old and I already have three murders in my past. Still, it's not as bad as my darling twin, he killed countless people just hours before.

Black teases me at the edge of my vision, beckoning me forward, to slip into its sweet embrace. I swim towards it gratefully, leaving this annoying thing called Life behind me. When I open my eyes again a feeling of surrealism hits me. Tate's kneeling with his back to me, sobbing gently while pressing something under the water of the bath I had drawn ten minutes ago. Stepping forward, I see myself floating in the water, my face tinted blue and my lips parted in a silent plea for a savior. Tate releases my body after a few more seconds, standing up and wiping his wet arms and hands off on a towel.

"Is this how you felt," I ask, tugging on the black material of my nightgown. He's still dressed in the dark clothes he died in, the long sleeves of his sweater pushed up above his elbows. "Kind of trippy."

"It is at first, but you'll get used to it." I nod, sitting at the edge of the tub again and fingering a damp strand of my hair. "Are you okay?" I don't answer at first, occupied by the sounds of footsteps and then the sight of Constance walking into the bathroom with my robe. She sets it down on the counter, not noticing Tate and me standing directly behind her even as she looks up into the mirror to dab at her tear-stained cheeks. Her perfect son has just died, her world ripped to pieces.

For all she knows, now she's left with a dysfunctional daughter and another daughter with Down Syndrome. What would she do if I had fought back and lived? How long would I have stayed alive before she finally snapped and killed me like she did Beauregard? "I brought you your favorite robe, baby girl, I know how you…." She pauses upon turning and facing the bathtub, the color draining from her face. "Oh my God…Oh my…." She hurries to kneel beside the tub, pulling my body out of the water and into her lap. "No, no, no," she wails between sobs," not you, too!" I giggle, watching the display with something akin to glee.

"I've never been better," I say, smiling up at Tate. My twin grins down at me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me tight against him. "Mm, can we pick up where we were when the SWAT team interrupted?" With a laugh, he carries me down the hall to my bedroom, laying us both down on the soft mattress and pressing closer to me.

**2011**

Staring out one of the stained-glass windows, I watch as a new family moves in, all happy faces and ignorant bliss. If they knew what they were getting themselves into they would probably tuck tail and run back to wherever it is they came from. I tilt my head to the side, blue eyes catching sight of a small white fluff ball of a dog, wondering how anyone could stand an ankle biter like that. "Newbies," Tate murmurs from across the room, relaxing on our brother's old bed with only the dusty sheet to keep him modest.

"I wonder how long they'll last," I smile, joining him beneath the sheet and snuggling against his chest. "The gay ones made it almost a year and they weren't even unstable to begin with." Tate grins, both of his arms wrapped tightly around me. "Mm, this family has a daughter, think you can trick her into killing herself and giving us a new toy?"

"Probably. Most teenage girls are easy to manipulate." I slap his shoulder playfully with a grin of my own. "Oh please, like I didn't have to manipulate you a little bit to get you in my bed?"

"All you had to do to get me to sleep with you is pull down your pants, brother dear." I lower my hand to rub his hardening cock, biting my lip and looking up at him through my lashes in a way I knew he loved. "Speaking of which, what do you say we get in a bit more fun before we start our game?"

"You making a go for the dad?"

"Well, he's not bad looking." I shrug, speeding up the pace of my hand. "I bet by the time I'm finished he'll be begging to fuck me." With a giggle, I straddle my twin, sinking down on him with a loud moan. He was a perfect match for me in every way, filling every inch of me and knowing where to press to make me squirm. "Ah," I moan, beginning to ride him hard and fast. There is no gentle love making here, Tate and I aren't sentimental in that way, we have to have pain with the pleasure.

Tate moves, making us both fall to the hard floor, quickly changing positions so that my ass was in the air and he was entering me from behind. The handful of hair he kept pulling and the unrelenting speed of his thrusts nearly made me come loose then and there, but I hold it back, knowing it would feel better the longer I resist. "Shit, Tabby," he grunts, moving quicker and harder, his free hand moving to the sensitive bundle of nerves to make my release come sooner. I come hard, falling forward with a scream and Tate on top of me.

We lay on the floor like that for what seemed like hours, the only sounds being our labored breathing and the family downstairs. "It gets better every time." He laughs breathlessly, pulling out of me and laying on his back.

"You're damn right it does." We smile at each other, clothing appearing on our bodies a few seconds later; a plain black sweater and jeans for him, a short skirt and spaghetti strap for me. The house catered to all of our needs, giving us what we wanted in exchange for trapping us here for the rest of eternity. "Come on, Tabby Cat." I follow Tate downstairs to get a better view of the Harmon family.

It's finally time to play.


	2. Doctor Harmon

**1993**

"We're running low, Tabby." I look away from my reflection in the bathroom mirror, spotting my brother as he comes into the room with a small packet of white power in hand. "Think this is enough to make it through the day?" I take it from him and open the baggy, frowning when I see just how low we've allowed it to get over the past two weeks.

"No, we'll have to make a run today."

"Sally will be happy to see us again." I make a face at the thought of the depressing blonde that practically lived in a hotel lobby, knowing she would make a big fuss when Tate and I left. She was too sensitive and clingy for my liking, but she did have some of the best drugs and all they would cost is a simple, teasing kiss. "So we'll go find Sally instead of going to school?"

"Sounds like a plan." I turn back to the mirror, carefully applying a thin line of eyeliner on my bottom lid and studiously ignoring the way Tate's watching me. I always knew when it was my twin's gaze on me, no one else caused me to blush or feel tingles make their way down my spine; his dark eyes were like coals, burning and searing hot. "Alright, let's get the day over with." I put my makeup under the counter and lead the way down the stairs to the kitchen where Constance was smoking and watching the new neighbors.

"Hey," she calls, spotting us and making us freeze in the doorway," where the hell do you think you're going with that shit on your face?"

"To school, Constance, like a normal teenaged girl."

"No daughter of mine is going out in public like that." She sniffs primly and rises from her seat, already pulling out a handkerchief. "Get over here and let me wipe it off."

"No time, we're gonna be late," Tate interjects, grabbing my hand and pulling me with him out of the house and down the street, walking fast so that Constance wouldn't chase after us. "When's she going to embrace the nineties?"

"The second she embraces the fact that I'm sixteen." Tate snorts, twining our fingers together as we turn the corner, no longer walking so fast since we couldn't hear our so-called mother yelling after us. "You want to explore the hotel after we buy more coke?"

"I guess, but how many secret rooms can the Cortez have anyway?"

**2011**

I sigh, walking through the halls with both hands stretched out, fingertips grazing the wall on either side of me. So far nothing interesting is happening, the other residents staying hidden from sight because of how unnerved Tate makes them. He basically rules this house, one of the more physical ghosts here. I peek into different rooms, taking in the new style with a scowl. At least Chad and Patrick had good taste in decorating. Chad walks around the corner, scowling when he spots me. _Speak of the Devil_.

"Don't give me that look, I'm not the one that killed you and your Romeo."

"You didn't exactly prevent it either," the dark-haired man sneers. I shrug, leaning against the doorjamb. "Where's your twin? I thought you two were joined at the hip." I roll my eyes, tugging on a strand of my shoulder-length hair.

"At least my boyfriend doesn’t avoid me at all costs." I give him a cold smile, continuing my walk as I descend the stairs into the parlor where the mom is busy removing old wallpaper and revealing the mural underneath. It was a morbid old thing, suiting the house far more than any living person could understand. That's probably why the last two owners decided to cover it up, the weird vibe it gives off putting them on edge more than the wallpaper they used to cover the mural with. "Tate?" My twin appears by my side in a heartbeat, dressed in his usual grunge fashion with his blonde hair mussed. "She's uncovering the mural." Tate's lips form a smile, one of his strong arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me closer to him.

"That was always my favorite thing about this place," he murmurs. "Constance is coming up the walk, you want to leave or eavesdrop?"

"Let's listen in and see what the bitch has to say." Addie is the first to enter the house, dressed in cheery colors and looking as pretty as I remember, just older since the last time I saw her. The new owner, Vivien, doesn't notice anything, working away until Addie speaks up.

"You're gonna die in here," my sister says smartly, her brown eyes focused on Vivien as the other woman gives a scream and turns around.

"Who are you," the red-head demands to know," what are you doing here? Who are you?"

"Adelaide," Constance calls before Addie can answer, the Southern bitch stepping inside a few seconds afterwards. "Adelaide." I sneer at the blonde, hating the fact that she looked so normal when no one in our family could ever be. She had tried hard to make Tate and I her perfect children, had forced me into dresses and ballet classes until I could walk without tripping every few feet, forced Tate into track and acting. If anyone was going to make it big, it would have been Tate, but neither of us were interested in fulfilling Constance's goals. Drugs and music kept us going until one day they just didn't work anymore. "Adelaide, I put Dora the Explorer on for you, so you would sit and watch it."

"It was Go, Diego, Go," Addie returns in frustration," I don't like it." Addie was picky when it came to her TV shows, but she always settled down with me at night and watched Scooby-Doo because it was a cartoon we both enjoyed. It made me feel like a little girl again.

"Oh, they're all brown cartoon characters, you can't tell the difference."

"Excuse me," Vivien interrupts, using the same stern tone Constance did when she tried to be a good parent. Constance, finally realizing that it wasn't just her and Addie in the room, gives Vivien a polite smile, rubbing Addie's arm to try and calm herself.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"I'm Constance, your neighbor from next door, and this is my girl Adelaide."

"Hello," Vivien says again, calmer than she was a moment ago, but obviously on edge.

"Go home, Addie, now." With her head bowed and one last glance at where she knew Tate and me to be standing, Addie leaves the room and heads for the house next door. "That girl is a monster." She motions at my sister with the covered bowl in her hand, shaking her head a little. "I love her, and I'm a good Christian, but Jesus H. Christ." Tate's grip around my waist tightens as Constance talks about our sister and I grip his arm and squeeze in return. "You know, if they had invented some of those tests a few years ago, I would have…."

"I changed my mind," I tell Tate, looking up at him," I don't want to hear anything else that spews out of her mouth." Tate nods and releases me, watching as I walk into the kitchen across the hall. The daughter, Violet I think, is still at school and the husband is locked away in his office, so the kitchen was empty of living people and I was going to take advantage of it. I open the fridge first, taking out a bowl of some kind of soup and breathing in the smell. "I miss food."

"I do too, Tabby," Tate returns, hopping up on the counter to sit as I put the bowl away and shut the door again. "You know what else I miss?" I smile up at him, resting my hands on his knees. "I miss the drugs."

"God, me too." I close my eyes as Tate begins to comb his fingers through my hair, the strands perfectly neat. One of the perks of being dead seemed to be having my hair the exact way I wanted it. "I want to feel good again, but I'll never get the chance." Tate hums his response, getting down and pressing me back against the fridge. "Then again," I murmur as he bends down to kiss me. "There's always this." He hums again, hands gripping my hips tightly as the kisses grow rougher.

"I love you, Tabby," he mumbles when I break our kiss to bite and suck at his neck

"I love you, too."

* * *

 The next afternoon was my first therapy session with Ben Harmon, so I made sure to dress in the best clothes I could think of; a pleated black mini skirt, pale pink spaghetti strap, a white jacket with short sleeves, pink and white faux pearl bracelet around my left wrist to cover needle marks, a simple black chord bracelet on the right, pink diamond earrings, a white daisy necklace, and a ring made to look like it was tied into a knot.

I smiled as I stared at my reflection in the dusty old mirror, smoothing down the fabric of my skirt before I fix my hair into a smart-looking bun at the base of my head and step into my white heels. If nothing else, Constance had showed me how to dress to accentuate my better features: pale eye shadow to make my eyes stand out more, short skirts and heels for my legs, and a top that would hug my breasts, but cover up my slightly flabby stomach.

"You look beautiful, Tabby Cat."

"Thanks," I smile, watching my brother's reflection as he paces around the attic. Unlike me, he'd decided to wear an oversized green and black striped sweater, worn jeans, and a pair of boots that added an inch to his height. His stomach was flat and toned from running every day before and after school, and he wasn't as scrawny as his clothes made him look, which really helped when one of Constance's boyfriends got handsy. "Whose appointment is first?"

"Yours, I think." Tate shrugs, dropping a kiss on the crown of my head. "I don't think it really matters as long as we both show up." Constance had made it a point to get Tate and me an appointment, though I don't think she realized how much this could help my plans in seducing Ben. He really wasn't bad-looking for someone so much older than me, his dark hair cut short and his build was fit like Tate's. I bet he's into the kinky stuff since most normal-looking people are. "Let's get this over with." I share a grin with Tate, twining our fingers together as we focus on the kitchen and appear just inside the door.

"Why are you two here," Moira asks, looking up from scrubbing the stove. Unlike the humans of the house, I saw her in both of her forms; the young one that had attracted my daddy and the old one with the blind left eye that most human women saw.  _Constance really did know how to aim that revolver of hers._

"We have an appointment."

"Yeah," I agree with a cruel smile," why don't you do your job and announce us, or would that be too difficult?" Moira scoffs quietly, but still leaves the kitchen to go and find Ben. "Tramp."

"Relax, Tabby." I let out a sigh and lean against his chest, relaxing only when I feel his strong arms wrap around my waist. Only he had this effect on me, a soothing warmth spreading through him and into me that seemed to set everywhere he touched on fire. "He's coming." Tate moves to stand next to me, deciding to hold my hand in case Ben realized just how close we really are. Ben comes around the corner a second later, greeting us with a friendly smile and handshakes.

"Hi, I'm Ben Harmon," he tells us, hand rough and calloused against my smooth one.

"I'm Tate, and this is my sister, Tabitha."

"Well, which of you would like to be first?" Tate and I share a look for a moment, identical smiles tugging at the corners of our lips. After a moment of silent communication, I give a little nod and face the shrink again.

"I'll go," I smile, reluctantly letting go of my brother's hand. "Better to just get it over with, right?"

"That's one way to look at it." Ben leads me to a room down the hall from the kitchen, the room that used to be for toys before Tate and I got too big for such things. Now there was a sturdy desk in front of a wall of bookcases, a chair for Ben, a low coffee table between Ben's chair, and a black leather couch with a rocking chair against the wall behind and to the left of it. "Why don't you have a seat, Tabitha?" My gaze switches between the rocking chair and couch before I decide to see what the leather would feel like on my bare legs.

"Is that coffee?"

"Yeah, would you like a cup?"

"Nah," I say, scrunching up my nose in a way that makes Ben laugh," I like the smell of it, but the taste is enough to make me gag."  _I'd rather be gagging on something else_. I keep the sweet smile on my face, wanting him to be fully relaxed around me before I start the fun part of the game.

"Did your mom tell you why she wanted you to see me?" I grimace at his use of _mom_ since Constance wasn't a fit mother for a Guinea Pig, let alone a human being.

"Is it because I get laid more than she does?" Ben lets out a short laugh, shaking his head a little as he sets a tape recorder on the table near his coffee cup, pressing the record button. "Do you record all your sessions or am I special?"

"All my patients are special, but yes, I'd like to record our sessions if it's okay with you." I shrug a shoulder, not caring one way or another since nothing can come of it.  _It's not like they can send me to an institution or prison_. "As to why your mom wanted you to talk to me, it's because—"

"She thinks I have a dependency on sex, but I'm really just a horny teen and attractive enough to draw some eyes towards me." I shrug again, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "Is it really a dependency when I can do without for weeks on end?" I can't, but he doesn't need to know that. "Besides, it's not like I smoke, so I don't see why she's worried."

"Well, you're her youngest daughter, it's natural for her to be worried." I shift on the couch, uncrossing my legs and watching as his eyes lingered on my panties in the brief second before I had my foot on the floor. He clears his throat after that, quickly glancing away and flushing. "You said you didn't smoke, but do you drink or do drugs of any kind?"

"I used to drink when I was fifteen, but I didn't like Constance yelling at me when she knew I was hungover, so I switched to drugs. I mostly smoked pot at first, then I graduated to Heroine, but I didn't like the way it made me drift in and out of sleep, the last thing I did was snort whatever I could get my hands on."

"And now?"

"I'm clean." His gaze flickers to my left wrist and then back to my face, one of his brows cocking up in question. "Old track marks, nothing new." I stand and move to sit on the edge of the table closest to him, removing the bracelets to let him see the faded marks. "Always injected there because I thought the marks were ugly and Constance wouldn't tolerate ugly kids."

"Do you blame your mom for your old addiction to drugs?"

"I blame her for a lot of things, but drugs I started because of the boyfriend I had when I was fourteen. Most kids our age would go to a movie or out for ice cream, but we spent the days in his basement getting high and fucking."

"At fourteen?"

"Mm-hm, I lost my virginity to him and the whole nine that followed, but he was too small for my liking."  _Not entirely true, Tate was my first lover, but Benny here doesn't need to know_. "He was sixteen, I think. Kind of hard to remember since we were high most of the time." I lean forward to rest my arms on my knees, noticing the way his gaze flashed to my cleavage for an instant. He clears his throat again, glancing at his watch before meeting my gaze with an apologetic smile.

"I'm afraid our time's up for today, Tabitha." We both stand, not even a foot of space separating us as I give him my most charming smile. "Maybe next time we can address the drugs you used to do."

"You're the doctor." I hold out a hand for him to shake, smiling a little wider when the tips of my fingers graze his wrist, able to feel the beat of his heart speeding up at the contact. "It was nice meeting you, Doctor Harmon."

"You, too. Could you send your brother in?"

"Sure thing."

"Hey, Tabitha." I turn to look at him over my shoulder, one of my hands resting on the doorframe. "Why don't you grab a snack out of the kitchen before you head home?"

"Thanks." Tate was waiting for me in the kitchen where I'd left him, throwing grapes at Moira as she was doing dishes. "He's ready for you, brother dearest."

"Was he any good," Tate asks, the grape he threw hitting Moira's shoulder before plopping into the sudsy water. "Did he fall for your charms?" I grin as he stands, wrapping my arms around him in a simple hug. I could hear the jealousy in coloring his words and I knew he was really asking if he needed to be worried.

"Nowhere near as good as you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tabby: http://thenewfiredancer.deviantart.com/art/Tate-OC-Cover-573657282  
> Outfits: http://www.polyvore.com/american_horror_story/collection?id=4399081


	3. An Omission of the Truth

**1982**

"Is this Mama's," Tate asks, holding up a beaded dress for me to see. I shake my head and scrunch up my nose, taking the dress from him and holding it up to watch the beads sparkle in the sunlight streaming through the attic window. It was pretty, almost like a slip, and decorated by black and dark blue beads.

"It's too pretty to be Mama's," I tell my twin, setting the dress aside and digging through the newly discovered trunk. It was half-filled with dresses like the one Tate had just found, but there was jewelry at the very bottom. The trunk was almost as big as me and it was hard to reach the bottom, the tips of my fingers barely brushing against a strand of pearls like the kind Mama wore.

"Tate," Mama calls from downstairs, her voice growing louder as she came closer to the ladder," Tabitha, where are you two hellions?" With a grunt, I manage to grasp the necklace right as a strong pair of hands grasp my waist and haul me into the air, Daddy laughing as he scoops Tate up next.

"Daddy, look what we finded!" I hold the necklace up proudly and Daddy beams down at me as he examines it.

"That's real nice, Tabby Cat," he praises and presses a kiss to my forehead. "You guys are my little detectives, aren't you?"

"What's that?" He moves over to an old rocking chair and sits down, keeping Tate and I in his lap as he began to rock us. I rest my head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat and his voice.

"Well, detectives are people that go out and find things that people have lost and they get paid a lot of money."

"I wanna be a 'tective," Tate says with an excited smile. "Tabby and me can go and find peoples' lost doggies!"

"That's a great idea, Tater Tot. Maybe we can all be detectives together."

**2011**

When I was younger, I used to dream all the time about everything from dancing at a ball in a beautiful dress to cutting Constance's throat and watching as the blood pumps out, ruining her precious sheets. Even when I was little, I was fascinated by the way fresh blood looked, how bright it was against the pale gold of Tate's skin. He used to cut himself when we were both alive and I would bandage him up, play doctor even before we knew how sexy that could be. That's one of the things I've missed since dying.

The dead don't dream; they're forced to stay awake at all times and watch the living sleep the restless nights away. The Harmon family were only quiet during the night, faces smooth and slack in slumber, light snores coming out of the two bedrooms. I'd love to say I was jealous, but I didn't really feel anything when I looked at them and knew that they were peaceful.

With a sigh, I move through the halls and towards the basement, ignoring the mischievous twins that were moving all the spoons into the fridge, past a bickering Chad and Patrick, and into the darkest corner of the basement where a small toddler resided. The baby was an evil little thing, nails more like talons that it used to cut people's throats when they came too close to its territory.

I just liked to sit and watch it, see the hate burning bright as fire in its black eyes, hate I couldn't really understand. Emotions were strange, almost foreign, like I knew how to spot them in other people and I knew how to mimic them, but I couldn't really grasp what they were supposed to feel like.

Was hate cold or hot, was sadness a restriction in the throat like being strangled, anger a hot coal in the belly? Was it really so bad as others claimed or were they just being overdramatic? Constance loved dramatics, she would often bellow speeches from movies when she was properly wasted, and even sometimes when she wasn't.

_She was always drunk after Daddy was gone._

I missed Daddy, missed the way he used to scoop me up into his arms and run through the house as he made race car sounds, missed the way he used to read  _The Hobbit_ to me when I got sick. Daddy wasn't a good man, but he was a good enough father that he would happily spend time with Tate and me instead of getting drunk on the back porch. He's the one that taught me how to throw a softball right and he encouraged me to join the elementary softball team.

Slowly, the baby started to move in the shadows and came out into the stream of moonlight, pasty white skin and pointed teeth glinting as it attempted a smile. I don't smile back at it, just watching with my head tilted slightly to the side. It was a nightly ritual, coming to see this monster that lurked here, knowing that I at least died without such a mutilation.

Shaking my head as the moonlight slowly starts to transform into dawn, I move back up the stairs and to the attic, all the other ghosts already back in their hiding places as the sun begins to rise. It would be time for my appointment with Ben soon, the game continuing as Tate starts in on Violet; it kept the boredom at bay and the dark thoughts locked away as I focused on my plan of seduction.

It wouldn't be hard judging from the way I caught him watching me the last time, his eyes lingering on places that only Tate should see. He was worse than my daddy, he would do the deed and then lie all about it, but at least Daddy kept his mess wrapped up with a pretty bow.

_An omission of the truth is still a lie._

I frown, pausing in the doorway of the master bedroom as I remembered the afternoon the hidden truths came bursting out in spurts of red; ugly wailing, drunken ramblings, and the loud, echoing bang that signaled lights out. "Don't fuck this up, Ben," I mumble, watching as he turned onto his side, sound asleep.

"You so bored that you have to talk to yourself now?" I turn and look up at my twin, forcing my usual smile to appear to keep him at ease.  _He hates it when I frown all the time, says it's unnerving, but he's just too sensitive._  "I thought you were gonna come back to bed."

"I got distracted." I move past him and up to the attic, Tate following me and pulling the stairs up after himself. "What is today?"

"Uh, a Wednesday, I think." He shrugs, already dressed in his usual baggy sweater and jeans while I quickly changed into a dress and dark red heels. Squeaking springs lets me know that he's flopped backwards onto the twin-sized bed, but I move to the window and watch as the neighborhood starts to come to life. "Come back to bed, Tabby Cat."

"Get off your ass, Tate, we have work to do."

* * *

 

"Nice underwear," I remark as I walk through the backyard, smiling a little as Ben hurries to close his robe. "I always took you as a tighty whities man, but you can rock those ones, too."

"Tabitha," he says, running a hand through his dark hair," what are you doing back here?"

"It's time for my appointment and I was already in my backyard." I point at the fence behind me, Ben gazing that way while my eyes turned to the bit of skin the robe left uncovered. He wasn't insanely fit, but he looked nice for someone of his age and his chest was covered by dark curls. "Are you one of those exhibitionist types that walk around getting off on the thrill of being caught?"

"What? No, of course not. I was getting dressed upstairs when I saw some creep out here."

"Bad burns and a hat that looks like it belongs to the Rat Pack?"

"Yeah, did you see him?"

"He hangs around the neighborhood, but Constance makes us stay away from him." I shrug, clasping my hands behind my back and pushing my chest out a little. "I don't know what happened to him, but I'm pretty sure he's harmless apart from looking in peoples' windows."

"That doesn't exactly reassure me."

"I'm a kid, it's not my job to be reassuring." He smiles along with me, then furrows his brows as he looks down at his watch.

"Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

"I got kicked out of last period. Apparently it's inappropriate to glue toothpicks to your desk when you're supposed to be studying Michelangelo. If it makes you feel any better, though, I made the shape of the Ninja Turtle that shares that name."

"Tabitha, you should be focusing in your classes."

"I should also stop finding out how many marshmallows I can stuff in my mouth, but that's not happening." He snorts and gestures for me to follow him inside, both of us entering the kitchen in time to see Vivien shrieking in fear and Addie caught up in a giggle fit. Ben turns a stern look in my direction, but I hold up my hands innocently. "I didn't put her up to it, cross my heart."

"Stay with your sister while I get dressed and go get your mom."

"You got it, handsome." Vivien looks from Addie to me, confused and growing angrier by the second.

"Who are you," she demands, a crease between her brows and her cheeks turning pink in embarrassment.

"Tabby, your hubby's newest patient and Addie's little sister." I move to wrap my arm around Addie's shoulders, taking on a protective stance. Nobody would be mean to my sister while I was around, I'd break their neck first. "Come on, Addie, let's have a seat." Constance and Ben walk in a few minutes later, my mother sitting on one of the barstools beside Addie and sending me an accusing glare.

"Addie, I want you to stay out of my house. Do you understand?"

"Can I smoke in here," Constance asks, a cigarette already out and her lighter in hand.

"No. Adelaide, please answer me." But Addie's attention was focused on the small dog the Harmons were fond of, curled up in a little bed near the cabinets.

"Can I pet your dog," she asks, flicking her gaze between the dog and the red-headed bitch of the house.

"No, you can't, but you can stop sneaking into my house and telling me I'm gonna die."  _Well, she's not wrong, you're all going to be dead soon enough_. It never failed, my games got boring and my thoughts are allowed to wander away to topics not considered socially acceptable.

"Oh, she tells everyone that," Constance laughs, patting Addie's back affectionately. "It's just her way of starting conversations after her father let her watch a horror movie when she was three. I told him she was too young, but you know how men can be when it comes to their little girls. Tell them you're sorry, honey."

"But it wasn't me," Addie protests, cutting her eyes to me and shrinking slightly when I gave a curt shake of my head. She can't mention the ghosts of the house, not even if it meant having to lie right to someone's face.

"If it wasn't you, then who did it," Ben asks in a gentle tone. He was the type that could get people to open up, spill all their dirty secrets that should be hidden away, but Addie was too smart to fall for that little trick. "I promise that you're not in trouble."

"Can I pet your dog?" With frustration clear in her eyes, Vivien moves to gasp Addie's face in her hands, Constance and I going rigid at the audacity. I may not be the best at figuring out emotions, but I was fond of Addie and I would make Vivien suffer if she left any marks.

"Listen to me," she says sternly," you stop coming in here without permission and you stop messing with things in my house. Am I clear?" Ben tenses when he notices the way Constance and I press our lips into thin lines, almost identical in our anger.

"Viv," he tries, but she cuts him off.

" _Am I clear?_ " With as much restraint as I'm capable of, I reach out and grab Vivien's wrist tightly, squeezing until she's forced to let go or have her arm broken.

"C'mon, Addie," I murmur," let's get out of here before she tries to make you into a pie." Addie's eyes widen as she stands up, her hand lightly clasped in mine. "After all, isn't that what the witch in the gingerbread house is best at?" I send a final glare at Vivien over my sister's head before leading her out the door.

"I'm sorry about all of this," Constance says, struggling to keep her anger in check until Addie's back inside the house next door. Once the front door closed and I had made myself unknown, Constance turns back to Vivien and her mask falls away to reveal the protective beast underneath. "You touch my kid one more time and I will break your goddamn arm."

_And I'll do more than that._


	4. Starved for Affection

**2010**

I watch with a laugh as the man in front of me nearly falls out of his office chair when the front door slams shut, Patrick jumping up and closing down his chatroom before sprinting into the bathroom across the hall.  _Another cold shower because of JungleJim._  Chad comes in the room a few minutes later, throwing a few bags of clothing on the bed before disappearing into the closet to gather some hangers.

"I'm home," he calls out just before the shower starts up. "And you don't care." He sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. This had been happening more and more often lately and it made me giggle each time Patrick was nearly caught. It wouldn't be long until Chad snooped again at the right time.

_Maybe I could speed that along?_

It wouldn't be hard to do that, wait until Patrick had left the room and then drag out one of his deepest darkest secrets.  _Or that cat-o'-nine tails he keeps in his lockbox._  Looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming in the room, Chad grabs one of the bags and pulls out a form-fitting, latex suit and mask.

"What the fuck is that supposed to be," Tate asks, appearing beside me and staring at the suit.

"Apparently these two are kinkier than I thought."

"You want to try it on?" I send my brother an unamused look before walking out of the room.

"We may be kinky, but I'd rather be naked when I'm fucked." Tate shrugs and wraps an arm around my waist with an easy smile, far too comfortable in his own skin. My brother feels things so deeply, everyone else seemed to barely scratch the surface, but Tate's feelings were like a supernova beneath his skin.

"I think I'm gonna go and help the twins plan a prank for Halloween."

"Have fun with that." I continue walking as Tate turns to run into the kitchen, glad to have the silence back. Tate was my twin and I'd probably die for him if there wasn't another alternative, but he never failed to talk too much when he was in a good mood. I need quiet, need someone who would just sit with me and not say a word.

The basement door squeaks loudly as I open it, but the wooden stairs didn't even creak as I descended them into the darkness. It was like a living thing down here, clinging to everything and muffling any sounds that may have been unspeakably loud. Waiting for me in one of the lighter parts of the basement, beneath a window, was a tall man with messy brown hair and a crooked smile.

"Hi, Daddy."

**2011**

It was quiet in the study that afternoon, Ben writing in his notepad while I just stared down at my shoes. "Isn't it a bit cold outside to be wearing a crop top?" I look up at Ben's voice and give a shrug, pulling a little at one of the ties on the side of my skirt.

"Constance always told me to look nice when I leave the house," I say with a smile," even if it means freezing my ass off."

"And does she approve of your outfits?"

"She approves of the ones I leave the house wearing." He nods and his lips quirk up in a half-smile, jotting down more notes. Curious, I get up and walk over to stand beside his chair, reading what he'd written down and giving him a good view of my cleavage. "I'm not looking for attention, I'm just confident."

"Confident people don't do the things you do to draw people's gazes." To emphasize his words, his eyes flick down to my chest and then back to my face. "You're doing it right now, Tabitha."

"Let me rephrase, I'm not looking for everyone's attention." I straighten up slowly, taking his notebook and moving to sit on the coffee table. "Hmm, tell me, Doc, do you really think I have a sex addiction like Constance does?"

"I think you're well on your way to developing one if we don't change your habits." Ben stands and takes the notebook back before bending down to grab the recorder, pressing stop on it and turning it off.

"And how do you plan to do that?" I stand as he straightens, chest-to-chest as we meet each other's gaze. He had that look on his face, a tightening of his mouth that showed how hard he was holding onto his restraint. "Relax, Ben." I rest my hands flat against his toned chest, feeling the impossible warmth coming from him that made me realize just how cold it was once you'd died.

"Tabitha…."

"Ben." He lets out a sigh, resolve crumbling as he drops his things and pulls me flush against his chest, kissing me like his entire life depended on it. Unlike Tate's possessive kiss that I had grown so used to, Ben's was gentler and almost unsure as I wrap my arms around his neck.

"I shouldn't be doing this," he breathes against my neck, the two of us shuffling backwards until the backs of my knees hit the couch. I allow myself to fall back on it, the leather smooth and cool against my skin, Ben kneeling over me and helping me to lose my heels and panties.

I lean up on my elbows, pressing a hard and demanding kiss to his lips, my tongue slipping inside to curl around his and taste him.  _Bananas and maple oatmeal, so good._  He matches the intensity, one hand tangling itself into my thick hair and the other going to the button of his pants.

"Let me help," I say breathlessly, pushing him back so that I could sit up. With shaking hands, I focus on the buttons of his shirt, kissing every inch of smooth, toned flesh revealed until I reach the waistband of his pants, unzipping them slowly. "Do you like this, Ben?" He nods, watching intently as I push his pants down just enough to free his impressive length.

He was longer than Tate, but not quite as thick and I found myself wondering what he would feel like. Would he use the same brutal strength to push into me, leave any delicious bruises around my neck and hips? I craved the violence that came with sex, the animal pleasure that allowed me to feel something other than discontent.

Ben's head falls back with a loud moan as I take him in my mouth, working him expertly like I'd been taught to ages ago, licking from base upwards and swirling my tongue around his tip. His hips buck up and I moan around him, trying not to smile when he hisses along with me. Once he was good and hard, I move back to my old position, pulling him over me and wrapping a leg securely around his waist.

"Fuck me, Ben," I moan, grinding my hips against him. He adjusts himself so that he's against my entrance, sinking in to the hilt with one rough thrust of his hips.

"Oh, god," he groans," you're so tight, Tabby." He starts off slowly, like he wanted to savor the pleasure and the thrill of fucking someone forbidden. I meet him thrust for thrust, hooded eyes glancing over to the doorway where Tate was watching us, one hand rubbing himself through his jeans.

"Just like that, baby!" Ben moves faster and harder, one arm supporting him while his free hand reached between us to press against that little nub at the apex of my thighs. I throw my head back, digging my nails into his shoulders as the pleasure builds and builds. "Oh yeah, harder, Benny!"

"You feel so good around me," he pants, burying his face in the crook of my neck. I let out a cry as the pleasure washes over and through me, eyes rolling back and breath catching in my throat. Ben follows soon after, his hips stuttering against mine and his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin of my neck.

I rest my head against his, trying to catch my breath as I looked to my brother again. He was leaning against the doorframe, a light sheen of sweat glittering on his brow and the front of his jeans soaking wet. "Thanks, Doc," I grin as I get up, grabbing my panties and shoes as I go.

"Tabby, we shouldn't have—" I cut him off with a deep kiss, feeling him melt into it like he had earlier. He was starved for affection and easily manipulated, the best type of man to have because they feel like they need to overcompensate.

"See you tomorrow."

**Is it possible to go insane after staring at a blank Word document for hours?**

 


	5. A Spray of Red

** 1983 **

I smile weakly up at Daddy, holding back a cough as I fight to stay awake. After two days of suffering from what Mama swore was a simple cold, Daddy had finally taken me to a doctor and smugly rubbed it in Mama's face that I had Pneumonia. "It's gonna be okay, Tabby Cat," he promises, brushing some of my hair off my face from where it had stuck there. "Daddy's here."

"I hurt everywhere," I whimper, turning my face further into his palm. Daddy has big hands, only a few hard callouses along his fingers to mess up the smoothness. "Make it stop." My entire body felt like the time Tate pushed me out of a tree, pain flaring up anytime I moved.

"Alright, baby, just lay still." He took his warm hand away and grabbed the glass off my nightstand, filled with the stinky adult drink my daddy loved. He would drink it when he thought Tate and I were fast asleep, always getting angry and slapping Mama when he'd had too much.

"Mama says that's bad."

"What Constance doesn't know won't kill her." He smiles warmly down at me and lifts my head, tutting when I wince at the spark of discomfort that accompanied the movement. "Open your mouth for me." I do as he ordered, eyes crossing to watch as he presses the lip of the glass to my mouth, pouring the tiniest amount of the brown stuff inside. The second it touches my tongue, I leap off the bed and kneel over the little waste basket, spitting it out and coughing hard.

"That was really bad!"

"I know, Tabby Cat, but it'll help you feel better." I make a face at that, staring at him in disbelief. Daddy kneels down beside me, rubbing my back and bringing the glass back up for me to take. It was heavy and required both hands, the smell coming off of it making me cringe away from it.

"Do I have to?" He raises a brow, sending me a warning look that meant not to ask stupid questions. He's been drinking the nasty stuff and his cheeks were flushed from it, like he was too hot even though I'm shivering. _He gets so mean when he drinks that junk_. "Okay, Daddy."

"Good girl." That tone he used, the one that meant bad things, had me furrowing my brows, but I took a sip all the same, choking it down. "Oh, that's my good girl." His hand stills on my back, then he picks me up and deposits me back in my bed. "Stay here for Daddy and I'll be back in about fifteen minutes." I give a miserable nod and snuggle deeper under my covers, clutching at my teddy bear as he takes his glass back.

He disappears down the hall, his voice muffled as sleep continued to pull at me. I can't sleep, I want to stay awake until Mama gets home with my medicine that tastes like bubblegum. _She's always so nice when I don't feel good._ Mama like to snuggle and coddle, telling me stories about when she was a movie star.

My eyes were just starting to droop when I heard the clicking of her heels on the hardwood floor. I force my eyes back open, watching as Mama passed by my room and down the hall towards her own where Daddy is gonna be sleeping. Sliding off my bed and I shove my feet in my penguin slippers before shuffling after my mama. A loud crack makes me jump and move faster, reaching their room and peering around the doorframe to see Daddy and Moira on the bed while Mama stood across from them.

She looked pretty in her red dress, her blonde curls perfect and her brown eyes gleaming with her tears. _Why's she so sad? Why's Daddy in his undies?_ I frown, watching as Mama clutched the little silver pistol tighter in her hand. She brings the gun up again, squeezing the trigger and sending Moira tumbling off the bed in a spray of red. I flinch and cover my ears, the echo of the gunshot ringing in my ears.

Clumsier than usual, Daddy stands and pulls up his pants, blue eyes focused directly on Mama with fear shining brightly in them. "I've loved you since I was sixteen," Mama admits tearfully.

"Sweetheart," Daddy tries," you know this didn't mean anything to me." I let out a sharp gasp as Mama raises her gun again, Daddy's gaze turning to me. "Oh, God, Tabby—"

"You've broken my heart for the last time." The ringing in my ears grows louder as she squeezes the trigger again and again and again, pops and snaps too loud after the silence of before. Swallowing hard, I move further into the room and grasp her shaking hand in one of mine, staring ahead of me at the pool of crimson spreading across the white cover on the bed. "Tabby!"

"Is he dead," I ask, tilting my head up to look at her.

"Y-yes. Oh, my god, why aren't you in bed?" She drops to her knees in front of me, the gun clattering to the floor as she cups my face with her hands. "You shouldn't have seen that!" She looked horrified, like she'd just ran over one of the puppies we kept in the basement.

"You should bury him before Tate gets home."

"What?" I move away from her, feeling like the room was spinning and my chicken noodle soup was about to make a sudden reappearance. "Tabitha Marie, you get back here." But I just keep moving slowly back to my room, where my warm bed was waiting.

"Bury him, Constance, it's the least you can do."

** 2011 **

"Are you not recording this session today," I ask as I walk around the office, sparing a glance at Ben over my shoulder. He was already seated at his desk, scribbling something down on his little notepad with his name embossed on the front in gold. "Or are you interested in doing something other than your shrink routine today?"

"We need to discuss what happened during the last session," he states without glancing up from his notes. "Please sit down, Tabitha."

"Oh, is it Tabitha again?" With a little smile, I saunter over to his desk and rest my hands on the smooth, hard wood of it. "Just last week you were using my nickname, moaning it like it was the only word you could remember. _Tabby_ ," I moan, arching my back," _Tabby, oh, Tabby_."

"Knock it off." He stands from his seat so fast that it slams into the bookshelf behind him, blue eyes stormy as he comes around the desk.

"Relax, Benny." I turn to face him, the edge of the desk pressed against the small of my back since he was so close. "You want to bend me over the desk right now? I bet the reason you try to be so dominant when you fuck is because your wifey wears the pants in your relationship."

"Tabitha, shut your mouth right now." His voice was tightly controlled and his pupils dilated with his anger, but it didn't scare like I'm sure it was supposed to. I've never felt fear before, not even when one of Constance's boyfriends snuck into my bed when I was fifteen. With the smile still in place, I meet his gaze and watch as his anger grows into a rage, the vein in the side of his neck throbbing.

"It's alright, I like it rough. Choke me, leave as many bruises as you want, I don't care; I want you, Ben—" The slap was loud in the otherwise empty house, unexpected and stinging against my cheek. I stare at the wall for a moment, feeling warm blood oozing slowly from my cut lip.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry…." He seemed at a loss for words as he stared at me with wide eyes, shaking his head a little as I run my tongue over my bottom lip.

"I won't tell anyone if that's what you're worried about." I pat his chest moving away from him and over to the door. "And don't worry about my brother showing up to strangle you while you sleep, I won't tell him about your little slip."

"Tabitha, wait, we need to talk." With a sigh, I turn and lean against the doorjamb, staring up at him expectantly. "What I just did and what we did last time, that can never happen again. I was lonely and you are so beautiful, but you're underage and I'm married; I'll set you up with a new therapist, a woman to keep you from seducing her."

"Gender makes no difference to me as long as I have an orgasm. I don't need a new therapist and I don't care if you're married, I don't even care if we have sex as long as you help me with my little dependency."

"I think I can manage that."


	6. Bad Days

**1986**

Bright sunlight pours through the open kitchen window above the sink, making Tate's curly hair glow golden as he bends his head over his homework. Simple fractions were written down on the page, though he was more focused on drawing small birds on the margins. He was supposed to be finishing his math homework just as I was supposed to be reading for my English class, but everything seemed more interesting than  _The Secret Garden_.

"Since the two of you don't want to focus on your homework, you can take this pie over to the new neighbors." I look away from my twin and find Constance pulling a pecan pie out of the oven, setting it carefully on the counter just out of our reach.

"What if I don't want to," I ask, quirking up a brow. It was a new talent I'd learned just two days ago, and I found it annoyed Constance whenever I did it because it was something I'd inherited from Daddy.

"You can take the pie over there or I can take a belt to your ass, Tabitha Marie." My butt was still hurting from the last round of swats, bruised and red, all because I'd broken her favorite pearl necklace. Tate had cried and begged for her not to hurt us, but I'd wondered what fear was like.  _Did it make your tummy hurt?_

"Only because you asked so nicely, Constance."

"I don't know what makes you think you can call me that," she snaps as I push away from the table. "You are only nine years old and I'll pop you in the mouth next time." I don't say anything, standing on the step-stool so I could wrap the pie tin up in a dish rag to keep my hands from being burnt. "Tate, get the door for your sister."

"Yes, Mama," he answers obediently, throwing and pencil down and running through the house with me following him. It wasn't fair that he's taller than me already; we're supposed to be identical, but Constance said Tate was having a growth spurt. "C'mon, Tabby!"

"I'm comin'," I grumble, trying not to drop the hot pie before I even made it out the front door. If that happened, then I'd just get another swat for making a mess. "Open the door, slowpoke."

"Shut up, I'm not a slowpoke!"

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

"Both of you shut up and get out the door," Constance calls from the kitchen, Tate and I both sticking our tongues out at her even if she couldn't see it.

"Daddy's better than Mama." I nod in agreement as we walk outside, careful to stay on the sidewalk to keep Constance from griping about her trampled front yard. "When do you think he's coming back?"

"When the world ends," I mumble, remembering the ringing in my ears that followed a gunshot. The house next door was big and intimidating if you hadn't been there before, but I'd lived there for seven years before Constance was able to sell it. With stained glass windows that cast colorful patterns over the hardwood floors and pretty light fixtures overhead, it was little wonder why it attracted people to it like flies to a bug zapper. It doesn't take us long to reach the front door, Tate ringing the bell until the door is opened by a tall, lanky man with short brown hair. He looked a little like Daddy, but he wasn't as strong or as handsome.

"We brought you pie."

"It's pecan." I hold it up for the man to see, giving him my sweetest smile like Constance made me do whenever I met new people. "Our mother told us to bring it over as a welcome to the neighborhood present."

"It looks great," the man smiles, taking it from me gingerly. "Who might you two be?" Tate and I share a look, unsure if we were supposed to introduce ourselves. Constance didn't like us talking to strangers, but maybe it would be alright since she sent us over. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. That's smart, you shouldn't tell people your names."

"Do you have any kids?"

"I do, I have a little girl named Margaret, she's three."

"I'm Tabitha and this is Tate." Tate moves closer to me, reaching out to grasp my hand in his as the man smiles down at us. He looked weak and nervous, like he could be blown over by the slightest breeze. "What's your name so we can tell our mom?"

"I'm Larry, Larry Harvey."

**2011**

"Have you got her to sleep with you yet," I ask, pulling some of my old stuff out of a box in the corner of the attic.

"No, but I'm getting there." Tate was reclined on a beanbag chair a few feet away, playing with a Rubik's Cube and not even noticing that some of his hair was hanging in front of his dark eyes. I've always hated that we weren't exactly alike, wishing I had his dark eyes or his slim nose, though he seems to favor our mother in most aspects. "How about with the doc? Get anything else from him?"

"Not yet, but it's only a matter of time before he gives in again."

"Is he any good?"

"For an old man." I shrug, smiling a little when I find an old picture of Daddy, Tate, and me when we were first brought home from the hospital. He held both of us in his arms, smiling broadly like he'd won the lottery or something. We were the first of his kids that weren't born with a physical imperfection, but I wonder if he'd still smile so brightly if he knew what was going on in our brains.

"As good as I am?" The jealousy was back in his voice and his dark eyes were burning when I look at him over my shoulder. "Do you like him better, Tabby Cat?"

"If I liked him better, then I wouldn't take you back to bed." His fits of jealousy were stupid, but they often led to rough sex and I wouldn't turn that down. "Check this out." I hand him the picture to distract him, watching as happiness replaces his dark expression. He thought our daddy was perfect and unable to sin, a regular Saint despite the fact that he was told Daddy had run off with the maid.

"They were all happy back then. Do you think Constance actually loved us back then or was she just pretending so she could make Dad stay?"

"She loved all of us, she loved you even after you killed all those people." Tate frowns, setting the picture aside and picking the game back up. He would never finish it, he was too impatient for any real long-term plans and prone to do things at the spur of the moment. "Ben left earlier this afternoon."

"Must suck for you."

"You're such a baby." I throw a stuffed animal at him, nailing him in the face with the little bunny. With a growl, he throws it back at me, lunging forward when he misses, and pins me to the ground with my hands trapped above my head. "Get off me, Tate, I'm not in the mood."

"You're always in the mood." I bring my knee up hard against him, pushing him off me when he starts to fall forward in pain. "Bitch," he growls, clutching at himself and rolling onto his side. I get to my feet and brush off my torn jeans, delivering a hard kick to his back for making my braid come loose. It was hard enough to get my short hair in a braid without Tate trying to roughhouse.

"When I say I'm not in the mood for your smelly ass, then I mean it." Scowling, I move across the room and peer out the window, watching as Violet comes up the walk with her bag slung over her shoulder and her head slightly lowered. She must have had another bad day because she normally comes inside with a confidant stride or at least a tiny smirk.

_Bad days must be contagious around here._

She was pretty, her dark blonde hair curling slightly at the ends, her nose small and cute, and her eyes that perfect almond shape guys seem to go nuts over; she always dressed in a sort of 90's grunge look, uncaring about what anyone else thought of her.

Further down the street was an old, beat-up car, dark blue and rumbling loudly as it creeped by. A man was in the front seat, hunched over the steering wheel so that no one in the house would have a good look at his face, but I knew. Larry Harvey, all gangly limbs and a mousy personality, too scared of his own shadow to act out or stand up for himself. "When's he gonna give up," Tate asks, grasping my hips as he looks out the window. Larry's car stops outside Constance's house, engine idling and his gaze fixed on the living room window where I knew Constance would be cleaning the glass. She always like to clean in the evenings, it gave her the excuse to shower and then get drunk before passing out.

"He'll give up when the world ends."

* * *

 

I've found time passes differently once you've died, hours seeming like minutes and years like months, almost out of sync where once it had all made sense. The only way to know how long you've been awake is by counting the sunsets; in a small corner of the attic, hidden by crates of old Christmas decorations, were small tally marks, one for each day since my murder in 1994. I was moving to make another line when movement outside the window caught my attention, a man and two women coming up the driveway as the sun was beginning its descent.

"Tate, we have visitors," I call, waiting for my twin to rejoin me. A man and a woman with long hair move towards the kitchen door while the woman with short hair moves to the front, blood dripping from a would at her hairline. "Want to go see what they're plotting?"

"I don't have anything else to do," he sighs, taking my hand as we appeared on the first floor of the house. "I'll take the front door and you take the kitchen?"

"And we'll meet up in the den." We shake on it like we used to when coming up with plans, the gesture as familiar and ingrained in me as breathing. I move into the spacious kitchen walking around the bar and making it to the door just as the couple move into sight. The man held a lock pick set, but I saved them the time and swung the door open. The woman stops abruptly when it happens, wide-eyed with apprehension as she tries to figure out how the door had opened by itself.

"Maybe this place really is haunted," she says, but her companion just pulls his ski mask on and steps inside.

"If ghosts are real, then I doubt they'll mind having a couple new roommates," the man replies, walking right through me without even realizing it. It was always unpleasant when that happened, almost nauseating like when you take drugs and forget to eat first.

"Violet," Vivien was yelling from the front of the house," get down here this instant!" More entertained than I have been in ages, I follow the couple through the house as they put a few of the more expensive things and Vivien's cellphone in their pockets. Tate joins me a moment later, an excited smile playing on his lips as he takes my hand in his.

"You think they're planning a murder or just a robbery," he asks, nodding at the couple.

"Maybe both," I suggest hopefully. "Imagine what Ben would do if he came home and found his precious wife and kid slaughtered in the basement. Blood splattered over the walls, decomposing flesh filling the air; the guilt would be too much and he'd end up offing himself before too long."

"I don't want Violet dead yet."

"You're not growing fond of her, are you?" I raise a brow as I look up at him, taking in the flash of anger and an almost violent shake of his head. "Good because you're all mine, Tate." He stops and pushes me against one of the walls of the hallway, pressing a possessive kiss against my lips that would've left them sore and swollen when I was alive.

"And you're mine, Tabby." A scream from the front made us jerk our heads in that direction, quickly parting to go and see what was happening. The woman with short hair and the man was dragging a struggling Vivien to a dining room chair that had been drug into the den, tying her in place with stockings while the long-haired woman forced Violet downstairs.

"I have money," Vivien tries as Violet is thrown to the ground next to the chair. "You can have it just promise me you'll let my daughter go."

"We don't want your money," the short-haired woman states, though her kleptomaniac friends obviously had different ideas. "Masks off, guys, the transcript stated that he allowed the nurses to see his face." The other two people take off their masks, as calm as ever despite the fact that they had something sinister planned out. They weren't psychopaths or sociopaths; they were just fanatics with a few screws loose. The short-haired woman glances down at her watch, mouth twitching into something like a smile. "Just twelve more minutes."

"And then we get to have fun," the long-haired woman says quietly. She looked familiar, though I wasn't sure why until I felt my brother lean in close and whisper into my ear.

"She's that chick that saw Ben earlier." I nod along with what Tate had said, remembering the strange woman that had talked endlessly about a nightmare and the Murder House Tour she'd went on last Halloween. "Bianca, right?"

"Yeah," I answer, not taking my eyes off the three intruders.  _Would they kill Violet and Vivien?_  It was bad enough having Vivien around just changing the appearance of the house, but I would lose my shit if she died and tried to change the hierarchy of the ghosts. Tate and I were meant to be on top, the two most dangerous beings stuck inside the house apart from the Infantata in the basement.

"I have a surprise for you guys," the short-haired woman says, pulling out an object wrapped in a white cloth. She peeled back the layers carefully, revealing what had to be the ugliest ashtray I've ever seen before. The dark green color scheme was reminiscent of the late sixties, like the glasses Daddy had inherited from Grampy. "I got it on eBay and I've been saving it until now. It's the real one that he used on Maria."

"Can I hold it," the man asks, looking like a kid in a candy store. He doesn't wait for approval, taking it quickly and holding it in both hands as he stared down in wonder.  _It's an ashtray, bro, not the Mona Lisa._  "You can feel R. Franklin's energy in this, it's bitchin'."

"Which one are we going to use it on," Bianca asks with a smile, five sets of eyes landing on the Harmons," and which one will be Gladys?" The short-haired woman thinks for a moment before pointing her knife in Violet's direction.

"She'll be our Gladys tonight," she states, Bianca throwing a nurse's uniform at the teen. Tate tries to lunge forward in response, but I grip the front of his sweater and hold him back. One look from me has him moving back beside me, tense but obedient like he knew I preferred.

"If you psycho bitches think I'm wearing this, then you're even dumber than you look," Violet shouts, throwing it back at Bianca.

"You have to," Bianca says, looking put out," everything has to be perfect tonight."

"We can't just let them do this," Tate hisses as Vivien starts to shout. "We have to stop them, Tabby!"

"Why," I ask with furrowed brows, taking in the desperation that was carving lines in my brother's face. He always looked like a little boy when he was upset, a four year old that had just been told no for the first time. "It's Murder House, Tate, everyone that comes in here usually dies here."

"Violet's different, she doesn't deserve it." I'm the one that tenses this time, Tate's brown eyes widening as he realizes what he's just let slip. "I-I didn't mean it," he stutters, backing away slowly as I face him completely. "I'm sorry, Tabby Cat, you're the only woman I want to be with. You know that, right? Violet is jus-just part of the game."

"Are you sure about that? You weren't too keen on killing that one couple either."

"Which one?" There had been so many people they'd murdered out of boredom, but they'd only killed one couple together since moving into the house.

"The straight couple that had tons of kinky sex all over the house until they couldn't walk." They had been a beautiful couple and so happy together to have their own house, but the screams they let out when I led the Infantata into their bedroom were the most beautiful things of all. "You remember them, right? You'd wanted to spare them because they were entertaining and kind to you."

"They were good people—"

"So were the kids at the school!" He flinches and falls to the ground, burying his fingers in his blonde curls. "They were probably good people and you shot them without any remorse, you killed them all and you got caught because you were too impatient to plan it all out!"  _He ruined everything, he ruined what was supposed to be my life!_ "You're a selfish bastard and I hate you for it."

"No, no you don't hate me!" With a scream, he shoots forward and tackles me to the ground, wrapping his hands around my throat and squeezing until he heard the bone snap. A dull pain spreads through my neck, whistling breaths escaping as I try to breathe through the aching. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry." Like usual with him, he'd acted without thought and it's a damn good thing he's already dead.

"Get the fuck out of here," I snap hoarsely once the bone has repaired itself. "Go and save your precious Juliet." He scrambles to his feet and begins to run, but my voice makes him freeze in the doorway. "Just remember, brother mine, that romance was doomed just like yours is." With a huff of annoyance at my twin's antics, I move up the staircase after the two women and Violet, noticing a chocolate cupcake sitting just outside a bedroom door. "Constance, I hope that's the same kind of cupcake you made my eighth-grade science teacher."

"Guys, this place is so trippy," Bianca calls from behind me. She appears a few seconds later, coming around a corner and pausing as I slide the plate across the floor with my foot. She couldn't see me, just what she might think is a magical cupcake going right in her path. "What the hell? R. Franklin, is that you?" With a smirk, I move to whisper in her ear.

"Eat it, Bianca." Her eyes glaze over for a fraction of a second, like she was half asleep as I talked. It was a simple power all ghosts had, a suggestion of sorts that usually had the living doing what we wanted them to do. "Eat it, it was made just for you."

"I shouldn't…."

"It's just like in Alice in Wonderland, it's practically got a note attached that says  _eat me_." She bends down and picks it up, taking a huge bite out of it without hesitation. Still smirking, I step out of her way and allow her to shake the daze off, continuing down the hall to her partner. "And now we wait for the show to start."

"This cupcake is fucking awesome."  _Yeah, for a good minute and a half before the Ipecac Syrup kicks in._

"Seriously," the short-haired woman demands when she notices Bianca standing in the doorway of the bathroom. "What, you thought we had time for a food break?"

"It was just like in that Alice in Wonderland movie.  _Eat me, eat me_ , that's all I could hear when I found it."

"Did you at least get all the cell phones?"

"Yeah, I got one out of the kitchen and…." She swallows hard, clutching at her stomach. "Fuck, I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Then get out of here and find a different bathroom!"

"Don't start without me, Fiona!" Bianca races away, hunched over and throwing the cupcake away from her like it was a poisonous beast.  _Constance is up to her old tricks again, but at least this one never grows old._

"It's almost eleven, time for you to get in the tub." Violet's mouth twists into a frown, but she obeys all the same, stepping into the brand new bathtub and letting the warm water rush over her white stockings. She'd changed like she was ordered, dressed like a nurse from a long time ago, the only thing missing being the cap. "Bianca, hurry up!"

"How long will this take," Violet demands, staring at Fiona without a trace of fear in her pretty brown eyes.

"Three minutes until you lose consciousness and one for your body to die of oxygen deprivation. I've been told it's unpleasant for the person drowning, but maybe it'll be easier if you don't struggle."  _It's not._  No matter what you did or how you changed things, drowning was a lot like being smothered except you couldn't push the water off your face.

"So, do you actually think this is the tub from the murders?"

"Of course it is, I studied the crime scene photos."

"That tub was grimy with a chrome faucet and rust stains, but look at this one. You see any of that? We completely remodeled the bathrooms after we moved in because the old one creeped my mom out. The original one that you want is in the basement." After a moment's deliberation, Fiona turns off the water and drags Violet out of the tub, making her lead the way downstairs to the basement. I get there first, going straight for the room that held the tub and finding two familiar nurses huddled in the corner. They didn't do much of anything lately beyond hiding out down here where they could be left alone.

"You guys hated being murdered, didn't you," I ask, hands clasped behind my back as they gave reluctant nods. "Well, three people are in this house about to do the same thing to those nice ladies that live here. Are you going to stand by and let that happen or are you two finally gonna show some backbone?"

"Get out," the larger woman snarls, her eyes glowing red for a second.

"Have it your way, but a child is about to be drowned in the same tub you died in." Tate joins me a second later, grinning from ear to ear. "How'd you do it?"

"I'll tell you later," he promises, bending down to place a soft kiss against my cheek. "You're gonna love it, Tabby Cat."

"Promise, Tate?"

"I've never lied to you before, have I?" I grin up at him, wrapping my arms around his waist in the closest thing I've ever given him as a hug. He keeps one arm around me as we hear the basement stairs creak, footsteps stopping just a few feet away from the room we're in. At my nod, Tate flicks the lights off and Fiona's angry shout follows directly afterward. "We're over here, you skank!" Tate moves over by the tub and I stay where I am until Fiona comes inside, her knife gripped tightly in her hand.

"Who are you," she snaps as I move behind her, ready to push her if needed.

"Look, I've already got it filled with water." She's a few feet away from it when Gladys sits up, white nurse's uniform soaking wet and clinging to her like it had the night she was murdered. Fiona lets out a screech of horror, trying to back away only to have my arms wrap around her tightly.

"Not so fast, sweetie," I scold, holding her in place as well as I could. "I don't want you to miss all the fun." Fiona screams again, kicking and struggling as Gladys gets out and comes closer, reaching out a wrinkled hand to run over Fiona's face. "You see, this is the woman you wanted Violet to be tonight, she's never left and neither will you when we're finished. Tate, go get Thaddeus!"

"He's gonna be so happy." Thaddeus was a regular feature in our killings lately, the small baby getting his kicks when he's able to suckle the blood spurting out of his victim's neck like a normal child would suckle its mother's breast. Tate isn't gone for long, the baby held gently in his arms as he comes back into the room. "Look, Thaddeus, we got you something to eat."

"Sick her, boy!" I release Fiona and take a few steps back as the baby surges forward, leaping up and using its claws to carve a deep gash in the woman's neck. He stays on her until she stops struggling underneath him, drinking deeply as her life's blood pumps out onto the concrete floor. It's not until her skin has begun to tighten and fade to an ash color that Thaddeus moves away from her, his sloth-like hands trailing against the door as he passes.

"That kid is so cool."

"He's definitely handy to have around." I smile up at Tate, pressing him back against the wall as the man is led into the room by Maria. "Now, tell me what you did to Bianca." He grins and settles his hands on my hips as I begin to kiss along his throat.

"I snuck up behind her and I got her in the stomach with an axe when she turned around."

"Nice, you haven't used an axe in a long time." I trail my kisses up to his jaw, moving steadily to his mouth while one of my hands started on the buttons of my heavy coat.

"I know; it was so nice when I felt it hit her ribs." With a moan, he tilts his head and captures my lips in a demanding kiss, yanking on my coat until it was on the ground and he had access to the skin my crop top left bare. "God, murder makes me so horny."

"I know," I moan as he slams me against the wall next," the first time we did it was after you'd offed that creep Constance was dating." He hoists me up and I wrap my legs tightly around his waist, groaning as he grinds against me.

"Goddammit," Constance shrieks a second later, sharp slaps raining down until Tate and I had two feet between us. "What the hell is wrong with the pair of you?!" Tate looks away with his cheeks flushing a dark pink, embarrassed about being caught, but my gaze was drawn to the pair of dead bodies just a few feet away. "I suppose you two brats created this mess."

"Thaddeus did the killing, we just lured them down into the basement," Tate grumbles. For good measure, Constance slaps me across the face one last time and then gestures for Moira to come inside. "If you want to keep Ben as my therapist, then we have to get these guys hidden somewhere."

"Tate, go and get the bleach," Moira instructs," you and your sister can clean up the blood while Constance and I bury the bodies."

"Bury them deep, we don't want them being found if the Harmons decide to put in a garden."


	7. Hurt

** 1992 **

I look away from my book as the front door opens and shuts, drunken laughter drifting upstairs and ruining my concentration. I had a book report due in less than a week, but it was getting progressively harder to focus on anything with Constance's new boyfriend hanging around. He was always so drunk and he stole the heroine I'd bought last week. Constance was fond of him though, she liked walking around town on the arm of a handsome man that was barely twenty-two.

_ He's seven years older than me, but I still have more common sense than him. _

I scoff, looking back down at the yellowed page and trying to find where I'd left off. Downstairs, the boyfriend was singing an off-key version of Achy Breaky Heart that had me rolling my eyes. It was bad enough the stupid song was playing on nearly every radio station, but now it was definitely stomped into the ground. Determined, I try to ignore the singing as he comes up the stairs.

"I had no fear," I read aloud, voice barely more than a whisper. "If anything, perhaps, I longed for something to happen, for the stones to—" My bedroom door is flung open and Kade stumbles inside with a drunken smile on his face until he spots me.

"Hey," he slurs," why ain't you sleeping yet?"

"Kind of hard to do that when you're singing at the top of your lungs." He snorts, looking around at the plain white walls and the small collection of stuffed animals in the corner of the room. Each of them had their own place on the little bookshelf, in the order that they were given to me by Daddy. "Where's Constance?"

"On the couch, said she couldn't make it up the stairs." He shuffles over to the shelf and picks up one of the raccoons, holding it up to his face to see it better. "What the hell is with the creepy stuffed animals?" Scowling, I toss my book on my nightstand and get up, moving over to where Kade is busy poking the toy's stomach.

"None of your business." I snatch it out of his hands and set it back on the shelf only for Kade to pick up the little blue teddy bear. "Cut it out, you ass!" Fed up with his shit, I slap him as hard as I can, driving him back half a foot as he stares at me in shock. He was too drunk to actually feel anything, but he still moved fast and wasted no time in delivering a slap of his own.

"Think you're a big girl, huh?" I stare at him in shock, my cheek stinging where his hand had made contact and my eyes watering. I've never been slapped like that before and the anger was slow to bubble over. "What the hell are you even wearing?" Still in shock, I glance down at my outfit and realize I'd forgotten to change into PJs when I snuck back inside ten minutes ago.

"I went out."

"You went out," he echoes with a laugh, shaking his head. I nod, trying for the stuffed animal again, but Kade only grabs a handful of my hair and yanks me back. "That's wasn't very responsible, Tabby." He tosses the bear away and shoves me against the wall hard enough for me to see black spots dancing in front of my eyes, my legs almost giving out as I tried to fight through the daze. "You need to be punished for that." He started working on his belt, smooth leather sliding through the loops of his torn jeans, and then pulled taunt with a _snap_.

"You hit me with that and Constance will throw you out on your ass," I snarl up at him, needing to get control back from the larger person.

"Oh please, she loves me." I flinch back as he brings his arm down, bracing myself for the sting of the belt. When it doesn't come and I hear a thumping noise, I risk opening my eyes just enough to see.

"Tate?"

"Did he hurt you," Tate demands from on top of Kade. He must've tackled him, but Tate was too scrawny to hold Kade down for much longer as the drunk man tried to buck him off. "Did he use that belt on you?!" I shake my head, shocked for the second time in the space of five minutes. Tate grabs Kade's long hair and yanks his head backwards, hissing in his ear. "You don't touch my sister!"

"What are you doing?"

"Returning the favor." He slams Kade's head against the floor, over and over until we heard a sickening crack like an egg that had just been dropped. Bright red blood pools under Kade's ruined face, spreading slowly outward over the dark floor and around my feet; warm and wet like hot water, but thicker and carrying a copper scent that made me wrinkle my nose. "Are you okay?"

I don't answer him for a minute, just pulling him off the unmoving body and pushing him backwards onto the bed. Tate was like a real-life superhero in that moment, the adrenaline and exhilaration mixing in my belly and making the hairs on my arms stand on end. Lying there in only a pair of boxers, his cheeks flushed and his breaths little more than pants, he's never been more attractive before.

"I think you deserve a reward, Tate," I murmur, pulling my shirt over my head and shaking out my long hair. Tate's dark eyes lock on my chest, the lacey bra cupping my breasts and making them seem bigger than they actually were. "What do you think?"

"I think you're right, Tabby Cat."

** 2011 **

"Is it true that you guys got robbed last night," I ask, looking up from the worn paperback in my lap. Ben gives a nod, lips pressed tightly together at the memory. "That must've sucked."

"I'm sure your brother told you what happened."

"He's not as forthcoming as you think he is. Tate just said that he helped your wife and daughter escape before things escalated too much." I shrug, meeting Ben's gaze across the coffee table. "Do you wanna talk about it?" There was raw pain in his eyes, part of him wanting to tell all the grisly details about why he wasn't here to protect his family. I could see the guilt in the way his shoulders were slumped forward, his hands shaking as he slides his pen behind his ear.

"Were you here, too?"

"No, unlike my brother, I have a life. I was at the beach with some friends, didn't get home until everything was done and over with."

"Were there drugs?"

"Wouldn't be a party without someone getting high and nearly falling into the bon fire." He makes a note, then looks back up to me with those lips of his still pressed tightly together to keep his screams from escaping. "I only drank a couple beers and watched the others make asses out of themselves, Doc."

"Did you have sex?" With a smile, I lean forward and meet his gaze, holding it as I studied him. People like Ben Harmon were easy to read, all of their emotions pouring out though their eyes and the way they held themselves. He was growing depressed, he was sexually frustrated, and he would live vicariously through his younger patients.

"I may not have the best rules when it comes to having sex, but rule number one is no more sex on beaches." He raises his brows ever so slightly, a silent encouragement for me to continue. "Come on, I'm sure you know how it is."

"Can't say that I do."

"I did it once with a friend—" _With Tate_ "—we were on a high from skipping class and things just kept snowballing until suddenly I was on a towel, missing my underwear, and this dork was struggling to unzip his pants. It was going fine until I started itching everywhere and I noticed just how much sand was on the towel with me. My friend wasn't too happy about being shoved off me, but I was happy to have gotten off the towel before the sand could reach somewhere particularly sensitive. Daddy would've been so disappointed."

"You don't talk about your Dad that often." I don't say anything, leaning back in the rocking chair and allowing my gaze to drop back to my book. "Is he still around?" I shake my head with a wry smile, wondering what Ben would do if I told him my father occupied a corner of the basement.

"He ran off with the maid," I lie, remembering the story Constance had told my brother. "I think I was six at the time."

"That must have been awful."

"It certainly wasn't easy. He was a really great person though, he used to tuck me in at night and tell me how much he loved me. It seemed he was bringing home a new toy for Tate and me every day no matter how often Constance yelled at him for it. We were his babies and he liked to spoil us."

"Did he spoil your older sister?"

"No, I don't think he ever did." My brows furrow, trying to remember a time where he spent time with Addie or Beau and drawing a blank. He was a good Daddy though, he liked to spend time with his kids, so surely he played with them once or twice? "That's weird, I don't think he ever bought Addie something that wasn't essential."

"Did he not like her?"

"He had to, right?" I glance up at him, but I'm not able to hold his gaze for long. "Good Daddies love all their children equally. They…. They want the best for them, to teach them everything they need to know in life." I felt sick to my stomach, a nervous cramping that had me shifting uncomfortably in the chair.

"Tabby, did your father spend much time with Constance?"

"Their marriage was starting to fall apart before Tate and I were born, but Constance was a cheapskate that didn't want to ante up the money for a divorce. Even if she did, she found out she was pregnant and used it as a way to keep Daddy with her." _But he only found conquests in our house._ I shudder at the memory, swallowing instinctively as I try to push it away. I hear Ben get up and move closer, but I still jump when he's suddenly kneeling in front of me.

"Did he buy you and Tate those toys because he felt bad about something?" I shake my head, picking at the fraying corner of my book as the carefully made wall begins to crack under the barrage of questions. _The bad thing is behind that wall, the monster that tried to devour me._ I can't do it; I can't face that beast again after it's taken this long to fight against it.

"No," I snap," just stop it."

"Tabitha, what did he do?"

"Nothing! He's my daddy and he'd never do anything to me!" I stand and try to leave the room, but Ben grabs my arm and pulls me back around to face him. "Daddies don't hurt their kids. They love them no matter what. He loved me and Tate." But the tears were falling faster than I could wipe them away and that foreign feeling coils in my belly like a snake getting ready to strike.

"You're in a safe place," he murmurs, pulling me into a hug and smoothing my hair down like Constance used to. "No one can hurt you here, Tabitha." I couldn't breathe as I all-out sobbed against his chest, clutching at the back of his shirt. It was fear that was making me sick, I realized a moment later as my legs gave out and Ben followed me to the ground. It was a loss of control that scared me more than anything and I've felt it before.

"He hurt me," I manage," he hurt me and he hurt my brother! It's his fault!"

"Did your mom know?" I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut to avoid seeing the room everything had started in.

"He waited until she left the house, he made Tate and I touch each other while he took pictures." I sniffle, feeling sick at remembering the way he would watch us. He was always drunk when it happened, I know that now, but it doesn't make it any less traumatizing. "Why'd he do it, Ben? Why couldn't he just love me?"

"I don't know, sweetie, but I'm going to help you get through this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I had no fear. If anything, perhaps, I longed for something to happen, for the stones to tremble as I entered the shadowy foyer and saw the distant tabernacle on the altar.” –Page 142 of Interview With the Vampire, Anne Rice


	8. The Alpha Male

** 1993 **

Moving back into the house where my daddy had been murdered was a surprisingly dull affair. We had all buried Lorraine and her two daughters last week, Constance waiting this long to stake her claim publicly so that people wouldn't gossip too much. "This is boring," I complain loudly.

"Maybe it would be less boring if you actually did some work," Larry comments, grunting under the weight of the sofa. "You know, instead of sitting on the furniture all the time?"

"Nobody asked you, Larry."

"Could you at least stop sitting on the furniture we're trying to move inside?" With a noise of inconvenience, I slide off the couch and walk into the house, my makeup bag in hand. _Why couldn't I just pluck my eyebrows in peace for once?_ Every time I tried lately, there was always some kind of interruption; Tate was horny, withdrawals started, Constance wanted an opinion on lace doilies. It never ended.

Knowing none of the things would be going into the basement, that's exactly where I head towards first, closing the door behind me and starting down the stairs. They creaked under my weight, though they didn't wobble or give out as I stomped down them and jumped over the last one to the concrete floor. The basement was divided into four spaces, the large space you come into first, two rooms off on the right, and one on the left that held the washer and dryer.

I move to the first door on the right, peaking inside at all the dusty shelves and cobwebs. It was cluttered to the extreme, large jars filled with murky liquids and animal parts floating in them, the concrete stained maroon in some places from blood that hadn't been cleaned soon enough, and a long medical table complete with leather straps for arms and legs in the dead center of the room. It was like stepping into a mad scientist's lab, the dirt-covered window only letting in a small amount of sunlight that created a dappled pattern on the far wall.

"Beware," a voice states behind me, making my heart stutter in my chest as I spin to find the source," for I am fearless, and therefore powerful." He was tall and fit, middle-aged with short and styled brown hair; his eyes were a grayish-blue, tanned from working in the sunlight, and dressed in a nice button-down and khakis.

"I will watch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom," I finish the quote," Man, you shall repent of the injuries you inflict." It was from _Frankenstein_ ; Daddy used to curl up with Tate and I on the first day of Fall and read us a chapter every night until it was finished.

"Hello, Tabby Cat." He was grinning, looking me up and down in near disbelief.

"You're dead."

"You're observant." His eyes snap back up to meet mine, that stupidly smug grin still turning his lips upwards. They were a little on the thin side like my brother's, the Cupid's bow formation almost perfect if only they were a bit fuller. "Am I not going to get a hug from my little kitten?" I move before I even realize what I'm doing, stopping only when my daddy has his arms wrapped around me.

"How is this even possible?"

"Maybe I'm still here because I wanted to watch my two little detectives grow up?" He sounded unsure, but pressed a hard kiss to the crown of my head and allowed one of his hands to rest on my lower back. "I don't care, Tabby Cat, as long as I have you and your brother."

"No, Tate doesn't know that you're dead and he can't know." I pull back, breathing easier as I take control of all the touching, resting my hands against his hard chest. "He thinks you and the maid ran off together and abandoned us."

"Then we'll just tell him the truth."

"Tate's not like me; he'd go on a vicious rampage if he found out what happened to you." Daddy frowns down at me, trying to smooth down my hair only for me to slap his hand away. "Stop that and listen to me!" He looked surprised at the outburst, allowing me to step out of the circle of his arms. "If he does something stupid because you broke the news that you're a ghost, then I'll find a way to send you to hell myself. Got it?"

"Anything for you, Tabby Cat."

** 2011 **

"What's up, Doc," Tabby grins as she walks into the kitchen, setting her backpack down on the counter. Ben spares a glance at his watch, realizing she was supposed to be in class for another forty-five minutes and wondering if she was just skipping or if she'd been kicked out again. After Hayden showed up, he wasn't able to focus his thoughts properly and the last thing he needed was another girl waltzing inside like she owned the place. It certainly didn't help that she was in a white crop top with black birds decorating the front of it, and a pair of white shorts that barely cleared her thighs. "Ready for our session?" Ben raises his brows and Tabby rolls her eyes when she realizes what the look of disapproval was for.

"Tabitha, what did I say not to wear anymore?" Ever since Tabby had revealed that she dressed the way she did because her father had liked it, Ben had asked her to dress in more appropriate outfits. Part of the reason was because he figured it would help her build up some self-esteem and deal with the trauma that had happened to her, but it was mostly because he didn't want to dream about the way she had looked when he took her almost a month ago.

"Revealing clothing."

"And what are you wearing?"

"Revealing clothing." She shrugs and stuffs her sunglasses into the side pouch of her bag. "In my defense, I look really cute today."

"Is this your daughter," the detective asks, his dark eyes glued to the smooth expanse of Tabby's legs. Ben really wished he could fault the other man for that, but he'd done far worse than simply ogle her. She was pretty, dressed to draw the attention of everyone in the room, and seemed a natural seductress when she wanted to be. The detective wouldn't be to Tabby's taste, Ben was certain of that much at least. Jack Colquitt was closer to forty than twenty, round-faced with a receding hairline and a pointed nose that made him look more like a mouse than a man, dressed in a cheap suit like a detective off TV.

"No," Ben replies," Tabitha is one of the kids that lives next door. I'm helping her through some stuff." He turns his gaze back to Tabby before he speaks again. "What did you do to get kicked out of your art class today?"

"Drew a dick on the chalkboard," she mutters, looking down at her colorful shoes," and I might have tried to bribe my teacher into giving me a B-minus on my report." Before Ben could start in on one of his speeches about bettering herself, she faces the detective. "So, are you one of his patients?"

"Not quite," the man says with a faint smile," I'm a detective with the police department."

"Do you have a name or does everyone just call you Detective?" That gets a laugh out of Colquitt, the corners of his eyes crinkling and emphasizing the bags there. He was obviously stressed, his laugh coming out strained and higher than a normal guy's.

"Most people call me Jack." Tabby moves closer to him with a softer smile, holding out a hand and waiting for him to shake it.

"Most people call me Tabby." She leans a little closer, not releasing his hand and rising up on her tiptoes to rest her chin on his shoulder. Ben has to fight to keep his expression neutral and not glare at the older man for not moving away from her. "You must have a really stressful job, Jack. How do you unwind after a hard day?"

"Tabitha, go wait for me in my office," Ben commands, the authority in his voice letting her know he wasn't pleased. The alpha male part of him wanted to claim her as his mistress, to show dominance in his home, but the sane part of him reminded him that she was only seventeen and he could be sent to jail for the relationship. _Besides, we've only had sex once. Get a grip, Harmon._ Tabby moves away without a fuss, sticking her tongue out at Ben before sauntering out of the kitchen.

"As if the maid wasn't bad enough," the detective grumbles, his gaze following Tabby's swaying hips just as they'd followed Moira's. "Man, you must have a hell of a time with those two around."

"You have no idea."

"Anyway, if you think of anything concerning Mrs. Freeman, give me a call." He pulls out a business card and slides it across the counter. Ben nods along with a smile, shouldering Tabby's bag so she wouldn't forget it on her way out. The last thing he needed on top of everything else happening is for his wife to think he's cheating again. _She wouldn't be far off the mark._ He'd betrayed her again with his own patient, a girl that obviously thought what she did was considered normal. If that wasn't bad enough, his dreams didn't strictly revolve around Vivien anymore; sure, Viv's in them, but it's usually a threesome with Tabby or Moira swapping places.

"Goodbye, Detective."


	9. The Hotel Cortez

** 1994 **

I move through the crowded hotel lobby without much of a problem, elbowing anyone that stepped in my way until I was at the head of the line and looking up at the woman occupying the front desk. Well, it wasn't a woman by normal standards since she was actually a he dressed in a silky dress from the fifties, but she preferred to be known that way. I didn't care one way or another as long as she gave me my room key and free booze tonight.

"It's been awhile," Liz states, setting her cigarette in the ashtray and turning around to grab the room key. "I was beginning to think that you'd found a new dealer."

"No such luck," I remark, kicking at a person that was trying to cut in front of me," but I might murder a bitch if she doesn't stop trying to push me." The last part was aimed at the woman behind me, the red-head shrinking back when she notices the knife I held. It was part of my Wednesday Addams costume, though it was pilfered from my kitchen instead of a plastic one. "Wait your goddamn turn." I turn to face Liz again, taking the key with a forced smile before walking towards the elevator.

The Hotel Cortez was always packed on Halloween because it gave off that creepy vibe that drew in the stoners and people with a scare addiction. I didn't mind if it was packed or not as long as Sally was in the usual room with the drugs. Tate was supposed to meet me here soon, but that was a relative term where he was concerned, so I just pressed the button for the third floor and leaned back for the wait. _I hope Sally isn't too clingy this time_. She was the epitome of Daddy Issues, always begging not to be left behind or for just a few more seconds of cuddling even though she was ruining everyone else's high.

When the elevator dings and the doors slide open, I step out and past a crowd of prep school kids that were probably here as their own form of rebellion against the man. No doubt, they'd be back to gossiping over a Cosmo tomorrow afternoon and looking down their noses at people like me. Again, I didn't care as long as they didn't interfere with me getting whatever the hell Sally had brought.

The door to room fifty-six was wide open and an Aerosmith song was blasting inside, Sally lying across the bed and belting out the lyrics. "Say you're leavin' on a seven-thirty train," she sings at the top of her lungs, not yet noticing she wasn't alone," and that you're headin' out to Hollywood-"

"I take it that Tate isn't here yet." She jumps when I speak, rolling onto her side to look up at me. Her blonde hair was short and crimped, stopping at her pointed chin and framing her face; she'd be pretty if not for the tracks of eyeliner running down her cheeks. "What d'you got tonight, Sally?" I move out of the doorway and over to the bed, taking in the cheap covers that looked like they could've been ripped off from a Motel 6. Sally wasted no time in grabbing the black backpack she carried everywhere, unzipping it and spilling its contents on the bed. Needles, packets of different colored powder, pills of all shapes and sizes, and joints; it was like a candy store and I was locked inside with a wad of cash in my bra. I pick up a packet of colorful pills with Fred Flintstone's face carved into the front of it. "What the fuck are these?"

"Ecstasy, the best in Los Angeles."

"And how much?"

"Twenty for one, but I'll let you have that packet for thirty bucks since you're such a good customer." I scoff at that, pulling my cash out and throwing her the needed amount for the pills and the usual baggy of coke that would keep Tate running smoothly. To make sure the two hundred bucks is all she'll charge, I lean down and give her a chaste kiss on the lips and allowed her a quick grope before pulling back. "I'll see you next week, right?"

"Same as always unless I go to one of the raves." They've been cropping up more and more lately, often boasting about the types of drugs that would be circulating through the crowds, so Tate and I would hit the ones that we could find. A few of our friends from school usually gave us a flier, but most of them are tweakers that can barely remember their own names. "See ya later, Sally." I leave before she can ask me for another second of my time, moving down the hall to the room reserved for Tate and me every Halloween.

Sixty-four was slightly bigger than the other rooms in the hotel, the furniture just as cheap, but there was a feeling of home. No one was waiting in the room when I finally got the key to work, but I put it down to track practice running late. It was always running late, but it allowed me time to myself, so I wasn't complaining. 

"His loss," I mumble, walking over to the nightstand and pouring out the pills. They were all a pale peach color, the cartoon figure on the front making me laugh as I think back to all the shows I used to watch as a kid.

I quickly swallow one of the pills and flop back on the bed, waiting on it to kick in. _Have I ever used Ecstasy before?_ I tried to think back to all the drugs I've used, but most were taken at parties where it was basically just a bowl where you took handfuls from. I think they called it a candy bowl, but who could be sure after taking a few pills and smoking yourself silly? _They had some great snacks, though_.

Too bad Constance thought cell phones cost too much because I could really use one right about now. The least Tate could do is call the front desk and tell Liz that he would be late. _He's such a selfish dick sometimes_. I stand up again, pacing around the room as I waited, though I wasn't sure if I waited for the drug to kick in or Tate to show up.

Twenty or so minutes in, I could feel my mood beginning to improve and my energy levels shooting skyward. I giggle as I twirl in place, the room spinning around me and making me feel like I was in one of those rides at the fair. Spinning around and around, my long hair flying outward and my arms outstretched to keep me steady; it was like I was flying and I didn't want to come down.

"Someone's having fun." I gasp at the voice, finding a man standing just in front of me. His hair was dark brown and styled close to his head, matching the dark pools of his eyes and the Gomez mustache he sported. He looked eerily like my brother, but his voice was all wrong for it to be my twin. "And what's your name?"

"Tabitha."

"And what are you on, Tabitha?" I giggle again, a breathless sound that seemed to echo in my ears. I felt so good, the feel of my clothes brushing against my skin amplified to the nth degree. It was amazing and so much better than anything else I've ever tried. The man laughs along with me, stretching out one pale hand to grab some of my hair and pull me closer to him. This close, I could see the small scar beneath his left eye, a pale pink that almost looked like the color of blush.

With a sinister smile, he makes me walk with him and pushes me onto the bed, giving another little laugh when I don't put up a struggle. I was already wet and writhing against the itchy blanket, my dress halfway up my thighs and rising higher when it catches on the man's wrists. The feel of his palms against the smooth flesh of my thighs was electric, sending sparks dancing up my spine. He lowers his mouth to my throat, biting hard and almost making me scream; his lips were soft and felt so very good as he kissed the spot, running his tongue over it slowly.

"Stop teasing," I growl, though it wasn't nearly as demanding as I wanted it to be. The man just laughs again, one of his long fingers finding its way under my panties and pressing against my entrance, but not sliding inside.

"Teasing is the best part." His breath is hot against my ear, like steam off the stove, washing over me and smelling of expensive cigars. "It lets you see how long your partner can last before she snaps like a rubber band." I moan loudly, arching my back as his thumb ghosts over my clit, the sensations rolling over me like a tidal wave. Nothing has ever felt this good before and I wondered if this was the ultimate high. "How long until you shout my name to the heavens?"

"I d-don't even kno- _Oh!_ Know your name." 

He'd slid two fingers inside without warning, the pain intertwining with the pleasure as lights burst behind my closed eyelids. They were so long and they pressed just the right spot so that I was on the edge in a split second, fighting hard to keep control. Not slowing down or going gently, the man whispered his name in my ear, biting the lobe hard enough to have a thin stream of blood spilling down onto the pillow. He gives a particularly hard thrust of his fingers and his calloused thumb finds my clit again, my release hitting me like lightning, a scream ripped from my throat and my back leaving the mattress as the feeling of pure, painful bliss sucked the air out of my lungs.

"James!"

** 2011 **

"Tabby, what are you doing in here," Vivien asks, stopping a few feet away from the table I'm sitting at.

"Waiting on my brother," I answer, scraping away at the front of a pumpkin. "Tate and I are supposed to go pick out Halloween costumes when he gets done and Doctor Harmon said I could wait in here as long as I promised not to get into trouble." Vivien leans over the back of my chair, taking in the picture I was slowly etching in the front of the pumpkin.

"Wow, that's really good."

"Thanks." It was just a picture of Fred Flintstone, one of the easiest things to etch, and I'd gotten bored as Tate went in for his session. "You guys can use it if you want, Constance isn't a fan of anything pumpkin-related unless it's in a pie."

"You call your mother by her name?"

"Yeah, I've done it most of my life." I shrug, setting the small tool down on the table and blowing off a few specks of orange. "I'll have to clean it out, but it's done other than that." Vivien looks over her shoulder before sitting down next to me at the table, absently grabbing a paper towel to start cleaning the metal tool.

"I was just wondering what you know about this house. You know, about its history that might make it hard to sell." I arch a brow at that, wiping off my hands before scooting my chair around to face hers. "I know about the two guys who lived in here before me, but was there anything else?"

"A couple was murdered here before the two gay guys." Her eyes widen at the news and her hands begin to shake slightly. "They were mauled in their bedroom during some really kinky sex, and then there was the original owners who went crazy after their baby was cut up." I tap my chin, pretending to think over all the deaths that have happened. "One chick was found with her head in the oven, two nurses were killed by some lunatic, and I think there might have been another death."

"Are you serious? Marcy never even told us about all of that."

"She's a real estate agent," I return dryly," all she cares about is selling the house to people that don't seem like they have a collection of heads in their basement." Vivien frowns, setting the tool aside and looking over her shoulder again as Tate walks into the kitchen. "You ready to go shopping?"

"Beyond ready," he nods. I give Vivien a polite smile before standing and walking to the front door with Tate, letting out a sigh of relief when we pass through the wrought iron gate at the end of the property. "It's always so nice to get out of that stupid house." I make a sound of agreement, tipping my head back and looking up at the blue skies above us. I could almost feel the warmth of the sunlight against my face and the cool October breeze.

"What are you going to dress up as this year?"

"I wasn't planning on dressing up." I make a face and Tate laughs, bumping me with his hip. "C'mon, Tabby, we're grown adults."

"Yeah, but Halloween is the best holiday ever!" He snorts, both of us walking down the sidewalk towards the shops further in town. Halloween Town Costumes usually had some cool stuff and it would be easy to steal them since Tate and I wouldn't show up on the security cameras. _Being dead certainly has perks_. Already knowing where we wanted to go, Tate and I hold hands and picture the familiar store on Magnolia Boulevard, appearing there a second later. 

The outside of the store was a bit bland, just plain tan bricks with a few colorful banners, but the inside was like the inside of Tim Burton's head; Halloween decorations covered the place, everything from facades of scary buildings to giant, animatronic spiders hanging from the ceiling. Shelves were completely stocked with all manner of accessories like fake tattoos and severed heads, there were ceramic mugs with different sayings in orange and black spidery writing, a few games and Ouija boards, small plush versions of horror icons like Vincent Price.

Every now and then, there'd be a glass counter where you could by some fake blood and realistic fangs or even gooey slime, masks of werewolves and mummies hanging behind the counter on a wall decorated with cobwebs. The guy manning the counter was done up in a Ghostbusters costume made complete by the replica Proton Pack on his back. Spread throughout the store were racks of costumes of all types and sizes. 

Fully ready to immerse myself in the Halloween spirit, I run for a rack of costumes and start digging through them while Tate pushed one of the small shopping carts to hold whichever clothes I found. The first one I find is a cut up, striped sweater-dress meant to be a female version of Freddy Krueger's outfit, a plastic glove attached to the hanger with a couple packets of fake blood. I push it aside and move on to the next, a Rick Grimes outfit with an obnoxious cowboy hat; a Black Widow catsuit goes in the cart, followed by a Cleopatra costume in honor of my old obsession with all things Egyptian. Several zombified versions of Disney characters get pushed aside (seriously, when did everyone get so obsessed with zombies?), I finally find one that screams _pick me._

"A pirate one," Tate asks," seriously?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"It's just so commercialized since those Jack Sparrow movies came out. I thought you had better taste than that."

"Well, most people will probably be wearing zombie crap this year, so I figured a nice pirate costume would stand out. Plus, I have a ton of rings hidden in the attic that I can wear to go along with it." I nudge him and nod towards another rack across the narrow hall, waggling my eyebrows. "You can always go as Eric Draven again, bro. I got the face paint and black eyeliner saved up from last time."

"You need to throw that shit away because I doubt any makeup from the nineties is any good." I snort, removing all the other costumes until it's just the pirate one before continuing through the store, grabbing a black pirate hat and a silver pair of dangly, anchor earrings as I go. We spend the next five minutes just silently browsing, occasionally picking something up that would go with my costume or pocketing some tubes of costume blood for Troy and Bryan. Tate refused to pick a costume, rebuffing my every attempt until he finally gave in and decided on a small makeup kit that would allow him to go as the Crow again.

We walk out without trouble, no alarms going off or employees chasing after the two teens already in costume. Mine was fairly modest compared to most of my stuff, the white skirt of it stopping at my knees and the black corset keeping me from showing too much cleavage. I wouldn't have to wear the usual number of bracelets since the long sleeves of the dress hid the track marks on my wrist, which was a relief since bracelets get annoying after eighteen years of wearing them constantly.

"You ready to get into trouble," Tate asks with a grin.

"Let's go manage some mischief!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering, Halloween Town Costumes is an actual store in LA that I looked up while writing this chap. I'm going off pictures I found online for the description since I've never even been to California, so I hope I got it at least partially right!


	10. Who We've Become

** 2010 **

"Why a French theme," I ask without looking up from the pumpkin I was etching. Chad was seated across from me, carefully applying a bright orange frosting to a cupcake for his Halloween party.

"Because it'll give me an excuse to say _let them eat cake_ ," he replies distractedly.

"You know, the actual translation was closer to bread, not cake." I glance over at him and meet his gaze with a smirk. He was handsome and strong even though he didn't like working out, his dark brows furrowing over equally dark eyes. Chad wasn't my favorite person in the world, but he helped keep the boredom at bay when Tate was sulking in the attic. "Granted, it was this really sweet type of bread called Brioche, but it still wasn't cake."

"Thanks, little miss know-it-all."

"Don't blame me for paying attention in history class." He snorts, setting the piping bag aside and grabbing one of the gummy Frankensteins out of a carton. Monster cupcakes don't match the French theme he was going for, but it better matches the creepy spirit of the holiday. "So, is Pat the reason you're paying me ten bucks an hour to help you decorate? 'Cause I thought you hated me."

"I don't hate you, Tabby, I'm just not fond of your brother or, well, the rest of your family aside from Addie." Well, to be fair, Tate and Constance weren't fond of Chad or Patrick either since they were gay. I don't care who a person fucks as long as I don't have to hear the gory details. A lifetime of having to hear Constance entertaining her boyfriends has really killed the curious part of me. "And to answer your question, Pat was on-call last night, so he's been asleep most of today." Chad stands up with the plastic tray of cupcakes in hand, moving across the kitchen to set them neatly on the counter by the fridge. He's been running around the kitchen all morning, most of the time spent making an apple pie that filled the kitchen with a scent that had my mouth watering.

"I'll be home around four," Pat states, the muscular blond not even sparing a hello for his least-favorite neighbor. He was dressed in his gym clothes and had a bag gripped tightly in one hand, so it was obvious where he was headed. I go back to focusing on the slowly-forming image of Coco Chanel, careful not to peel back too much of the orange skin lest I make a hole in it.

"Tabby, could you give us a minute?" I set the etching tool down and peel off the plastic gloves before exiting the kitchen, but not before snagging one of the mummy-topped cupcakes that I had helped with. Even in the other room, I could still hear their conversation and I eavesdropped without stopping to think about it. "I need help with these pumpkins, all I can get tabby to etch are the people she actually knows about."

"Who are those two?"

"Mine's Marie Antoinette and Tabby's is Coco Chanel. I thought I could do a famous French figures theme this year and I could bake one of those three-tiered cakes with each layer representing a different era."

"Have fun with that, I'm going to the gym." I turn myself invisible, quickly scarfing down the cupcake to avoid Pat thinking he was going crazy. Didn't exactly need these dorks moving out before they gave Tate what he wanted, and one of them claiming to see a flying cupcake would do exactly that. But I didn't have to worry too much because Patrick was stopped before he reached the doorway.

"Don't forget to wear a condom. Oh, and pick up some Gala apples on your way back because these Golden Delicious just look sad floating in the bobbing bucket." They really did, but I just thought it was because a grown man had set up a bobbing bucket for other grown adults. It was depressing how much effort Chad was putting into all of this when his boyfriend couldn't get away fast enough.

"Why would I wear a condom at the gym?"

"Why, I don't know," Chad returns sarcastically," could it be because you're screwing that twink trainer that looks like a discount Johnny Depp? Oh, and pick me up some gourds, too. I saw this picture in a magazine where they spray-painted them white and hung them outside like little ghosts, and I thought we could do it to draw in someone more interesting than the realtor."

"You're right."

"I usually am, but why am I right this time?"

"I'm screwing my trainer. And you know what? It's some of the best sex I've ever had."

"Military rules, honey, I don't ask and you don't tell. And I'm curious about something, is your admission to something I already know about supposed to hurt me? I've got news for you, I've been screwing our next-door neighbor, the one that models, and he's way bigger than you are. And even if I wasn't already following your example in a much classier and discreet way, living with you has made me bullet proof." I muffle a snort of laughter as Chad continues listing off grocery items that he needs, just imagining the shocked look on Pat's face. "Have you picked out a costume or will I have to do that for you, too?"

"Why are you even doing this?"

"Because we're going to have a house filled with people in just three days and one of us needs to be prepared. It's pretty sad when I can rely on the teen already dressed as Poison Ivy more than I can rely on the man I bought a house with. And yes, before you ask, it's the comic book version, so leave the kid alone about her taste." There's a tense moment of silence followed by the sound of something being thrown.

"This is such bullshit! All of this, the stupid pumpkins and cupcakes, it's like living with a fucked-up Martha Stewart! I don't give two shits about the stupid bobbing station, Chad! I want love from someone and I want to be able to love them!"

"Then leave! Oh, wait a second, you can't because we both sunk all of our money into this death trap of a house. Do you actually think I like carving these stupid pumpkins or listening to that bitch next door complain about the inaccuracies in her history textbook? I'm trying here! I'm trying to make this place warm and inviting and spectacular, I'm _trying_ to get this stupid Halloween party get shot by _Elle_ friggin' _Decor,_ so someone will see it and want to take it off our hands. Once that happens, you're free to have all the trainers you want and I can fall in love with a twenty-five year old whose biceps are even better than yours. Now get off my back, carve a goddamn pumpkin, go get a fucking outfit, and man the hell up. "

The silence that follows Chad's speech was tense, almost like a poisoned cloud settled between the two men; a full year's worth of frustration finally out in the air and they won't be able to recover from it. Tate and I have watched them ever since they moved in, but they've never had a fight like this one, which meant they would never take in a baby for Tate's adopted mom to call her own.

"I can't believe this is who we've become," Pat states after a moment, voice quiet and sad," Hallow-queens arguing over pumpkins. We were supposed to have a baby and this..." He scoffs softly, the pain etched into every line of his face easily seen as I peek around the corner. "A great life that just seems like it's a dream now." I watch as Pat strides out the door, leaving Chad behind to take out his anger on one of the pumpkins that had already been gutted. With a howl, he picks it up and throws it across the room, a loud crack resounding in the otherwise silent house.

** 2011 **

"Seriously," Ben asks as I approach the table of the cafe he and Tate were sitting at. "You're only seventeen, Tabitha, you shouldn't be smoking."

"I think I've earned it after everything I've been remembering," I retort, sitting in the seat between him and Tate. I take another drag off the cigarette, enjoying the way the smoke swirled when I blew it out. Ben has paled and is sending a hesitant glance in my brother's direction. "I told him what Daddy did, so you don't have to tiptoe around the subject." Tate had taken it badly, throwing anything he could get his hands on and swearing he'd make our father beg if he ever showed his face again. I couldn't tell him our father was in the basement, though. He's my daddy, I can't turn on him or I'd be disloyal. Right?

"How're you feeling today?"

"No worse than usual, I guess. I... I still get moments where I can't stand to be touched, but at least I can handle being in the same room as my brother without remembering all the bad things." Flashbacks have been happening more and more lately, that thing I now know as fear making me sick. At least Tate's trauma has been buried so deep that he can't seem to reach it anymore, so I don't have to worry about comforting him.

"Tabby Cat's really strong," Tate says, covering one of my hands with one of his. It was a comforting gesture and it helped to ground me when the bad thoughts came. Tate's touches were nothing like our father's had been, he was rarely gentle and it made a huge difference compared to how our father used to cuddle us afterward. "I remember..." He trails off for a moment, eyes glazing over as he stared at something no one else could see. I turn my hand over so I can grip his, digging my nails in until he snapped back. "I remember afterwards that my sister would always be the one to help me with the cuts and stuff. She was like my own nurse or somethin'."

"Yeah, you have a strong sister, Tate," Ben agrees with a gentle smile that I force myself to return,” and she has a strong brother. Are you two going trick-or-treating tonight?"

"I'm going to the beach with a date."

"I'll probably go to a party," I murmur with a shrug, taking my hand back. "Just dance until I'm too tired to remember things or until I meet someone who doesn't smell too much like weed." At a stern look from Ben, I hold up my hands in a gesture of surrender. "Relax, I'm not going to be smoking anything, it's just that joints, among other things, get passed around a lot during raves."

"You could always pass out candy," he suggests.

"I'm seventeen and I'm sober, so why can't I go out and have a good time with other kids my age? I'm pretty sure it's completely normal for girls my age to hook up every now and then. Y'know, relieve stress in whatever way we can." The stern look doesn't leave his face and I shrug a shoulder, grinding my cigarette out under the toe of my dark blue heel. "Or I could go to a hotel and just pig out on room service while watching scary movies."

"I like that thought a lot better." I give him a faint smile, leaning back comfortably in the chair to look around me. The café had hay scattered over the sidewalk and bales of it stacked up with carved pumpkins and plastic witches seated on them. As always on Halloween, parents and children alike drug each other to and fro, the parents looking exhausted while their costumed little demons were catching their second wind. Free candy made all kids forget manners, their goal the sugar hiding behind strangers' doors. Halloween's always been my favorite time of year, the costumes and parties in full swing because who didn't love being scared?

"Alright, this has been a great chat, but Tate and I have some errands to run for Constance." Tate leans his head back and groans, looking like a puppy that was just told he'd be going to the vet to get snipped. "Apparently she sent her newest toy to the store last night for chocolate chips, but he just used the money to fill up his bike." I stand and brush off my skirt before grabbing a handful of Tate's sweater. "Come on, loser, we're going shopping."

"Jesus," Tate whines, getting up reluctantly," I hate it when you quote Mean Girls at me, Tabby."

"Get over it, Tater Tot." I push Tate ahead of me and send Ben a flirty smile over my shoulder. "See you later, Benny!" He gives a half-hearted wave in return, one hand wrapped around his cup of coffee. "Constance gave me fifty bucks, so you want to go see what drugs we can buy?" Halloween was the one night of year that the dead could mimic the living fully, which meant drinking, eating, and getting high.

"Thank God for Halloween."


	11. Ready to Give Up

**1994**

"You're home early," I remark as I spot Tate walking into his room across the hall. When he doesn't say anything back, I set aside my book and slide off my bed, moving to stand in his doorway. He was just sitting on his bed, eyes glazed over like he was lost in his own head again, a bit of blood smeared across one of his cheeks. He looked awful, though that might have just been from the coke running out of his system. "You okay, Tater Tot?"

"I did it," he mumbles without looking up from his hands," I did it, I did it." He kept mumbling, repeating the phrase again and again without even looking at me. It was unnerving to see him this messed up, too much like our father was the first time he... I shake the thought away along with the memory that tried to surface, stamping down on the gut-wrenching fear that had torn through me and the feeling of shame that had followed.

"You did what?" He shakes his head, rocking back and forth with one of his hands buried in his blond curls. Without stopping to think, I move to sit beside him and cup his face in my hands. He was shaken up about something and I knew from experience that a gentle touch could ground him back in reality. Normally he just rests his head in my lap for a while, but he was high strung today and was able to take me by surprise, pinning me down on the bed with my hands held above my head.

"I  _did it_ ," he growls like it was all my fault, face contorted an expression of rage. "I killed them, Tabby!" He groans, putting a hand under my thigh to hoist my leg around his hips. Tate groans again, grinding down against me and making me arch at the feel of him against me, already hard and throbbing in his jeans. He was breathing hard, his mouth right beside my ear as he whispered," I set Larry on fire in his own office..." He grunts, blunt nails digging into my bared leg. "...Then I went to school and I shot  _them_. There was so much blood, Tabby."

"Who'd-" I'm cut off by a moan, wanting more than anything to bury my fingers in his silky hair, but unable to do so. "Who'd you kill, Tate?" He felt so good against me, his weight making my panties brush against my clit and sending tingles of pleasure shooting up my spine with every move he makes.

"Everyone," he breathes, sitting up long enough to grab at the silk of my thong and pull it down my legs with no semblance of gentleness. It left red marks all the way down the tan expanse of my legs, almost like a carpet burn, but all disgruntlement about that was wiped away when he grabbed a handful of my hair and forced me to arch my back to keep him from breaking my neck.

His warm mouth found one of my hard nipples through the silk of my nightgown, sucking and biting harshly the way he knew I liked. With my hands freed, I get a tight grip on his black sweater, and wrap my legs around his, forcing him to turn so that I could straddle his lap. "You killed them without me," I say with a pout, making sure the only contact he had with me was my hand on his chest. "We were supposed to do it together, we had a  _plan_ , Tate!"

"I couldn't wait any longer!" He tried to flip us again, but I slap him hard across the face. He hadn't stuck to the plan, hadn't even let me finish planning the attack, and now he was likely to get caught because of a drug-fueled rage. Days like this made it seem like a miracle that he's made it to his junior year in high school.

"Then you need to learn how to wait. Hands to yourself, grab the sheets if you need to, but you don't get to touch me with them." He growls, a protest already on his lips, but it dies away when I deliver another hard slap. Both of his cheeks are bright red by now and my hand is stinging, but the control was the best drug of all and I wasn't about to relinquish it yet. "Think you can handle that, Tate?"

"Better than you ever could," he spits back, hands fisting in his sheets to prepare himself. With a malicious grin, I lower myself down to actually sit on him, relishing in the slow hiss he lets out when I position myself directly on his jean-covered cock. I have to balance myself better, both hands in his chest with my nails digging into the smooth flesh until he grimaces. Too much pain and he would wuss out, but as long as I treaded that fine line, I could have him as long as I wanted.

"Beg me to move." He presses his lips together tightly, too stubborn and too proud right now. "Beg me or you can take your little problem in hand, big brother." His eyes clench shut for a second, the reminder that he's older than me by two minutes making him want to take charge. I lean forward, lips brushing against his ear and my tone dropping to that seductive note that he loves so much. "Use that skilled mouth of yours to beg, Tate, and I might even let you cum."

"Wouldn't you rather have my mouth do something else?" He turns his head and bites my bottom lips hard enough to draw blood, sucking on it before I could pull back. A few drops of scarlet slide down his neck and disappear into his sweater, enticing me to follow the trail back up to his lips. Still, my hips don't move against him and I can feel him tensing beneath me.

"If you're a good boy, I'll let you do whatever you want to me with that mouth." His eyes flash dangerously as they open again, his hips bucking up against me that perfect way to drag his tip over me. I couldn’t help my reaction of grinding down against him return, the low moan escaping before I could swallow it. It felt too good, reminding me just how much I wanted him inside me.

_But he still needs to be taught a lesson_.

I slide the straps of my nightgown off of me, allowing the silk to pool around my waist and bare my breasts for Tate's inspection. They weren't overly large, barely a C-cup, but I knew how much Tate loved to nip and suck at them. He loved it when I would press them against his chest so that he could feel them every time and thrust into me with all of his strength, his sparse chest hair creating such a delicious friction.

The sound of heavy boots on the stairs breaks through the pleasurable haze, all of my screaming instincts making me slide off my twin's lap and straighten up my nightgown seconds before the doorway is swarmed by men in black SWAT uniforms. All of them were big guys, filling the room with their guns pointed at the bed, several lasers centering on Tate's chest as he slowly sits up. Constance was screaming somewhere in the hallway, begging and pleading for the team of men to be gentle.

The fact that a SWAT team had taken up shop in Tate's room meant my brother had left witnesses and the array of rifles and handguns inside the black duffel beside the bed meant that these guys knew exactly who the school shooter was. "Miss Langdon," one of the men demands," step away from your brother." I raise my chin defiantly, sitting up straighter as Tate stands up with his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. There wasn't a sign of that in his eyes, the lust and rage clear for anyone to see as he formed a gun with his right hand and brought it up to his head.

_Bang!_

**2011**

I lean in the doorway, watching in silent fascination as Violet dumps an entire prescription bottle of pills out on her bedspread. She looked almost like I did the day Tate was shot, bone tired and far too pale for someone who spent her afternoons out in the California sunlight. She looked like a girl who was ready to give up.

Overdosing on pills could have differing reactions depending on what they were, but I recognized the little green ones that were set in front of her. Sleeping pills were the best, they made the passing gentle and pain free. You just drift off into sleep and never wake up. I'd thought about it for a while even before Tate went off the rails, wondered what it would be like to get away from all the drama and the lies that surrounded the Langdon household.

Back then, when I could get my hands on whatever drugs I wanted, I wouldn't have come back as a ghost and I might have even been at peace—or as close to it as someone like me could get—because we didn't live in Murder House. _Would there have been a bright tunnel filled with light or brimstone and hellfire?_ Maybe there would be nothing, just oppressive emptiness of a slowly rotting coffin tucked six feet beneath the earth.

And what would happen if I tried to kill myself right now? Would I come back as a ghost or would the house spit me back out like something unnatural?

I wanted the answers,  _craved_  them sometimes, but today I only wanted to see how I might've been had I felt genuine emotions. Psychopaths like me have them, but we're out of touch and can't get a good grasp on them even when we do experience them. It's like when you're in the bath and you just want to wash yourself and get out, but the soap has disappeared under the water and it slips out of your hands every single time you try to grab it.

Violet didn't have that problem, she was a more humane version of Tate in that she feels her emotions keenly and doesn't quite know how to handle them yet. She needs to vent, to yell and kick and scream to the heavens because she'll surely explode if she doesn't. She vents herself through her petty arguments with her parents and the way she acts out some of her passion with Tate, but some of it remains, coiled and hot in her chest.

There were no drugs to distract her from the pressure slowly building inside, no way to check out of her body and just float above all the nastiness of the world, she was stuck firmly on earth and this was the only way for her to escape.

I wish I could fully understand that desperateness that drives her forward, but all I could do was observe and try to connect to the part of me that had been locked away a long time ago. I think they refer to people like me as environmental psychopaths, shaped by my surroundings and family, forced to find a way out.

I know I used to feel things, but the pain became too much when Daddy started doing the  _thing_ , and I used to close my eyes and pretend I was someone else. I would become Tabitha instead of Tabby Cat, the other me couldn't feel a thing and didn't care about anyone except her goals, she was  _safety_. And I had changed completely the day my Daddy was caught in the act with Moira, the Tabitha persona clicking into place like it had always belonged.

With Tabitha's lack of emotions and empathy, the memories were shoved behind a wall just like Fortunato had been, bricked up and never allowed to see the light of day. The thousand injuries I had borne were locked away somewhere that would never allow them to jingle like the bells on a jester's hat.

Violet wasn't so lucky in that regard, her stresses and fears dancing around her mockingly, like little devils poking and prodding until she was ready to collapse and let the vultures pick flesh from bone. And still I watched on as she swallowed one handful of pills after the other until there was none left for her to take, her limbs curling around her as she rested on her side. I watched on as her breaths began to slow and falter, her eyelids drooping closed in slumber, and then I stepped away and called out.

"Tate, your girlfriend's dying!"


	12. A Little Push

** 1993 **

Hugo glances up from his book when he hears the stairs creaking, able to make out the small feet of his daughter as she comes into the basement. She normally wore high heels, but she had on a pair of black flats today that reminded him somewhat of the little ballerina shoes she'd worn when she was a year old. She'd loved those things, bawling until he or Constance slipped them over her tiny feet and cuddled her close to their chest.

She's a big girl now, the fact made even more apparent when she reaches the bottom of the stairs and comes fully into view. She always dressed so nicely, today's outfit consisting of a black skirt with pink flowers printed on it and a shimmery, black top that left the bottom part of her stomach exposed. Her stomach was a bit soft from the days she spent lazing around the house, high off her ass and munching on whatever snacks were closest.

Tabby was stumbling around this afternoon, one hand outstretched so she didn't run into anything as she steadily made her way to the couch that had been moved into the Doctor's workroom. Hugo follows after her, silent and invisible, observing as she collapsed onto the plush cushions and allowed her eyes to close.

She looked exactly like her mother used to, pale gold hair falling in soft waves past her shoulders, makeup highlighting delicate cheekbones and full lips. She had his nose, a little too broad for her face just like her mouth was a little too small, but all of her features put together made a pleasing sight. She had a gorgeous tan after spending hours outside, practicing softball or just laying out on a chaise lounge in a little yellow bikini.

He chews on his bottom lip, reaching out a hand to brush it over her soft hair. It always smelled like cherries to him, sweet and enticing, and he wanted to keep the smell with him always. "No," Tabby mutters in her sleep, turning onto her back with her hair fanned out against the dark material. "Please, I don't want it." Her thin brows knit together, creating a small crease between them as she swatted at some invisible attacker.

"Don't you touch her," a woman snaps behind him. He looks for the source over his shoulder, spotting the woman standing just inside the doorway. She was tall and willowy, her blonde hair in a messy bun at the back of her head with wisps falling down to frame her face, a small nose, and beautiful blue eyes. "I saw what you made her do when she was still a baby and I know the lust in your eyes."

"Who the fuck are you," he demands, sneering at her as she moved to kneel in front of the couch. That vantage point allowed him to see the nasty exit wound in the back of her skull, the gray of her brain barely visible amongst the other gore and blood.

"I'm the owner of this house and the woman who's telling you never to touch this child again." She rose to her full height, the top of her head stopping at Hugo's nose. "The next time I catch you doing those horrible things to her or her twin, I'll cut it off."

** 2011 **

I stretch my arms over my head as I walk into the house, already missing the feel of sunshine as the air-conditioned kitchen makes goosebumps break out across my arms. There was a man sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of white wine set in front of him and his chin resting on his fist. "You look bored as hell," I remark as I shut the door. He looks over at me, caterpillar brows raising just the slightest amount. "Interested homeowner or patient?"

"The first one," he answers, sitting up straight as I move to sit on top of the table. The wood was cold even through the material of my jeans, but I ignored it as I focused on him. He was foreign, though his accent was American, his skin was darkly tanned but not orange, which meant it was natural, and his slicked back hair was jet black. "Let me guess, you're the daughter?"

"Close, but no cigar. I'm Tabitha."

"Joe Escandarian."

"Jesus, I bet you had fun trying to spell that as a kid." He lets out a bark of laughter and gives a little nod of confirmation. "So, what do you think of the house?"

"It's not half bad and the maid is an added bonus."

"Yeah, Moira's a real treat."

"Do you live here?"

"Nope, I live next door, but most of my time seems to be spent around here since my brother's dating the daughter. Perhaps I can be another little incentive for you to move in, Joe." I pick up his glass and take small sip from it, the wine sweet and making me wish I could drink more of it.

"How old are you?"

"Old enough to know that men don't actually care when they have to ask that question." My lips quirk up in a smile as his gaze slowly travels to my mouth, following my tongue as I swipe it over my full bottom lip.

"You know, I've always had a thing for blondes."

"I've been blonde all my life, so lucky you."

"Tabitha," Ben snaps, stalking into the room and yanking on my arm hard enough to drag me completely off the table. "My office, now."

"Always so rough, Doctor Harmon, just how I like it." I turn my gaze to the Armenian still seated at the table, pulling on the hem of my tank top to allow an inch or so of my cleavage to be on display. "I hope you get the house, Joe, I'll bet you'll be even more fun to play with." With the smile still on my face, I walk down the hall to Ben's office, seating myself in his desk chair with my booted feet on his desk. It wasn't long before I hear the thundering footsteps preluding Ben storming into the office and slamming the door closed. "What's the matter, Benny, your wife not putting out anymore?"

"Get up!" I lower my feet back to the ground, planning to take my sweet time, but Ben jerks me up by my arm again. "I have been working my ass off to get you to a better place and yet you keep at it with this fucking act!"

"What act? In case you haven't noticed, I'm a teenaged girl with a thing for older men." He growls low in his throat, pulling me tight against him with no warning and bringing his lips down hard against mine in a kiss filled with pent up frustration. I return it, threading my fingers through his short hair as he backs us up so that I'm trapped between him and the desk. I could feel his arousal pressed against my stomach, hard and insistent as he grabs my thighs and roughly drops me onto the cool surface of the desk.

"Take off your fucking pants, Tabitha." I quickly do as ordered, the metal button holding my pants together clattering to the floor as it's torn off in my rush to get the damn jeans off of me. My panties are next, the expensive lace tearing in places under Ben's impatient tugging.

"Hurry up," I snarl, helping him push his pants and briefs down just enough to free his erection.

"Don't fucking talk until I say!" He buries himself inside me with no warning, letting out a low hiss as my nails dig into his shoulders. I was wet and growing wetter, but it still hurt a little too much as he pulled out. "Jesus, fuck—" He keeps a good grip on my right knee and his free hand moves to my throat, making me lie flat on the desk and hang onto the edge to keep from sliding away each time his hips snap forward.

I squeeze my eyes closed, focusing on the feel of him moving inside of me and the tight hold he has on my throat, sure to leave bruises if I were alive. A high keening sound escapes me as he hits that perfect spot that made everything have a golden tinge, thrusts hard and powerful enough to have the heavy desk moving an inch or so and my breasts bouncing in my bra.

"Fucking hell, Tabby, you're so tight!" He bends down over me, releasing my throat so he could hold onto the desk. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist, back arching as the pleasure continued to build. It was like bursts of electricity were shooting off in every nerve ending, sizzling up my spine and making me moan louder and louder each time he drove further into me. "Yes, oh God, yes!" My orgasm hit harder than ever before, my scream echoing in the room as my muscles tightened around him. Ben followed seconds later, blunt nails digging into my thigh and his weight almost crushing as he slumped against me.

"I knew you had it in you," I breathe, nipping at his earlobe," you just needed a little push."


	13. Mama

** 1994 **

"Aren't you a little young to be buying drugs in a hotel room," a man asks as I take the small baggy of coke from Sally. He was tall and handsome, his dark hair a mess and his baby blues lined in black; a sculpted jaw that reminded her of superman, decent muscles, but he was antsy like most users were.

"Aren't you a little old to be doing it," I shoot back, stuffing the baggy into my bra for safekeeping.

"That's harsh." We share a brief smile as we look each other over, my eyes taking in the ripped jeans and rippling biceps while he took in the curves my dress emphasized. It was a tight, black number with a zipper running down the front for easy access, one of my favorites because Constance always threw a fit when she saw me in it. "I'm Donovan."

"And I'm late." I brush past him as I leave the room, heading for the one down the hall that held a man far more interesting than a guy in his early thirties still chasing a high. James Patrick March, a mystery I was too stubborn to file away like I know I should. He should be a pile of dust by now, but I knew from experience that he was as solid as I am, all hard muscles and shining insanity.

The room was empty when I stepped inside, the bed covers smooth and the table clear of the booze that was usually set out for me. I bite my lip, moving over to the nightstand to grab one of the take-out menus stuffed inside the drawer. I could rip off the coupon and use it to cut the coke into lines since there was no use staying sober while I waited.

"What have I told you about punctuality," James snaps from behind me, the door slamming shut at the same moment. It takes every ounce of control I have not to jump, growing used to him sneaking up on me. It seemed to be a game to him now, seeing what scared me and what didn't even though I'm not sure I even remember what fear feels like anymore. I don't turn like he wants me to, I just continue over to the large table and set the menu down before pulling the baggy out of my bra.

"You told me you like it when I'm punctual," I reply, tearing the coupon off," but it's hard to do that when my dealer's chatty." Sally hadn't cried this time, but she had been clingier than usual. "Just give me a minute and we can get down to business." _Business_ in this moment referring to being fucked like never before. James had skilled fingers and he was a better lover than even my twin, though the similarities were unsettling at times.

"No, I want you sober for this, Tabitha." I ignore him, dumping some of the fine white powder onto the menu. I hear a frustrated sigh and then he was sweeping the menu and drugs clean off the table before I could make any lines.

"What the fuck?!" With a growl, he takes a handful of my hair and slams my head down on the table, pinning me in place a little too easily for my liking. He didn't look it, but the guy was strong as fuck and had no trouble manhandling me. Just knowing that I had no control of the situation had my chest feeling tight. "Get off," I hiss, but struggling only made him wrench my left arm behind my back.

Images were coming to the forefront of my mind, the hard table beneath me replaced with the arm of the sofa, digging into my belly while a free hand touched me somewhere that hurt really bad. I couldn't shake the man off; I was too small and he was too big and why is he hurting me? _Please stop, Daddy, I promise I won't try and break the doll you gave me again_.

"Mama," I cried out, but she was passed out upstairs. "Please, it hurts, I'm sorry!"

And then I was brought back to the present with a grunt of pain, finding myself back in the Hotel Cortez with James staring down at me in shock. He had released me and the pain of falling to the ground had jerked me away from the traumatic memories, but I could still feel the pain my father had caused me and the raw fear that made me want to puke. I squeeze my eyes closed and curl up into a ball on my side, bringing the heel of my hand up to rub at my temple.

"No," I mutter to myself," that wasn't real, Daddy wouldn't hurt me like that. Daddy loved me, he loved Tate, he was a good Daddy…."

_ Mama, why didn't you help us? _

** 2011 **

The last person I expected to see when I came out of Ben's office was Constance, standing there like she owned the place. She didn't look surprised to see me hurriedly buttoning up my shorts or that Ben's hair was mussed, simply raising a brow in that way of silently judging that had Tate anxious all the time when we were alive. "I take it you two had a nice session."

"Oh yeah," I remark with a frown," he really got me to open up."

"I don't think any man has ever had a problem with that." I narrow my eyes, but Ben's hand on my shoulder had my tense muscles relaxing the slightest amount. Constance's blue eyes move to Ben, her hands clasped together in front of her to keep us from seeing the way she wanted to clench them into fists. She always did that when she was really angry and trying to hide it. "Do you think my daughter and I could use your office for a little chat, Doctor Harmon?"

"Don't you have an entire house to have a private conversation in," Ben asks with raised brows.

"It'll only take a moment, I assure you. You can get back to…." She trailed off for a moment, sending him a knowing look. " _Treating_ her when I leave." I look up at Ben when his hold on my shoulder tightens, a tic going in his jaw as he stares down at Constance. "Come on, Tabitha." Constance doesn't spare another look at Ben, walking into the office with me following behind after a moment. "Shut the damn door."

"Shut it yourself," I say, crossing my arms over my chest as I stand beside one of the windows that overlook the backyard. Moira was buried out there under the gazebo, not a very respectful burial, but a lot more dignified than being turned into dog chow like Daddy. I've managed to avoid him for weeks, just the thought of him making me feel ashamed since I couldn't fight him off. Ben said it wasn't my fault since I was only a kid at the time, there was nothing I could've done to fight Daddy off, but there was still a part of me that blamed myself. What would make a father look at his children and see them as sex objects? Did he always see Tate and me like that or did we do something to change it?

"Disrespectful brat." But she closed the door herself all the same to keep Ben from overhearing anything she wanted to bitch about. "I just wanted to come by and see how you were doing." I jump when Constance's voice is closer than I thought it would be, finding the blonde standing just a couple feet away from me. She furrows her perfectly plucked brows, reaching out to cup my face, but freezing when I flinch away from the touch. "What's happened to you?"

"A lot," I mutter, looking out the window again. I didn't like seeing the emotions in her face, the sadness and regret that I saw a lot of growing up, though they were usually hidden by her disappointment.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I want you to leave me alone once and for all." Her sharp intake of breath has me looking at her again. The hand she'd tried to touch me with was covering her mouth and her eyes were filled with tears. She knew something, had realized a vital part of our relationship had crumbled away a long time ago. "I'm dead, Constance, have been for _years_ , so cut the cord and fuck off."

"Tabby Cat, please—"

"Don't call me that!" The nickname didn't sound right coming from her, it was just as twisted as when Daddy used it. I clench my jaw tightly, taking deep breaths to steady myself. "Only Tate gets to call me that now. He's the only one who loves me." _He's the only one that really understands because he's lived my life, too_.

"Did you remember something? Is that why you're acting like this?" Her voice was shaky and she sounded fearful, like I had just confessed that the monster under my bed was real and coming for us all.

"You could say that." I let out a dry and humorless laugh, shaking my head. "Did you ever notice a change in Tate and me when we were kids? I mean, was there ever a moment you suspected something was wrong with us or did you just ignore that, too?" The tears spill down her cheeks, but Constance doesn't bother to brush them away. "You couldn't have been passed out every time that Daddy snuck into our room, our screams and pleading should have woken you up at least once, but you never came to help us."

"You don't understand—"

" _What is there to understand?!_ Tate and I were raped over and over again by the guy that was supposed to love us unconditionally and you never helped us, never even acknowledged the bruises! You wanna know why your own kids hated you? Why we wanted nothing more than to cut your throat and leave you in some ditch? _That's why!_ You never cared enough to help us!"

"I did care," Constance yells back, moving faster than I could predict and latching onto my arms," I cared more than you'll ever know! Why do you think I shot him in the first place?!" I stare at her with wide eyes, remembering that afternoon clearly. She'd never mentioned the abuse, just that she was tired of him cheating on her with…. _She never said other women_.

"You shot him for us?"

"I didn't know until the night before when I walked in on him watching some sick video of you and your brother. I was going to wait until the next day when all of you were at school, but then you got sick. I thought the medicine I gave you would knock you out, that's why I killed him that day, and then you were there and saw everything. Tabby, I'm so sorry that I didn't realize sooner." She was practically sobbing now and I wanted nothing more than to have my mama hug me, but she hasn't been a real mother in twenty-eight years.

I push her away from me, sprinting out of the office and as far from the house as I could get without being snapped back like a rubber band. I couldn't stand to look at Constance's tear-stained face or Ben's worried expression, I didn't want anyone to see me upset because I haven't felt like this since I was little. I hate it, I hate them and this cursed life, and everything that made me turn out like this. _It's not fair, goddamn it!_ I fall to my knees and beat at the hot asphalt of the road, the stinging pain helping to push the other emotions away from me.

And the Tabitha persona slides back in place.


	14. Nighttime Torture

** 1993 **

It was late in the evening when I was jerked out of a drug-induced slumber, unsure why at first until I smelled smoke. I sit up with a grunt, looking around the backyard to see if the fire was near me. _Why did I pass out outside?_ Maybe I'd taken some bad drugs at that party. At this point, it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest.

Shaking my head, I stand up and push my hair off my face as I look around. My brain was still foggy, so it took me a moment to register that the house next door was on fire. "Oh shit, that's not good," I mutter, walking over to the fence to get a better look. It was the second floor and the windows had blown out of one of the rooms, people watching from the sidewalk as the firetruck came speeding down the street with its sirens on.

The smoke hung heavy in the air, the immediate danger next door really putting a damper on my high. Sighing, I turn and head inside and up the stairs to my twin's room, Tate sitting in his desk chair and watching the blaze.

"Hey," he greets as I plop down in his lap and rest my head on his shoulder. "Did you have a good night?" I groan in answer, my stomach grumbling from the pot earlier. This was a bad time to get the munchies, but maybe no one would judge if I tried to make s'mores.

"What happened next door?"

"No idea, the fire started a few minutes ago and Constance called 911 to come put it out." He wraps his arms around me, resting his cheek against the top of my head. He was warm and smelled like Irish Springs soap, meaning he'd showered once he got home from the party. He'd left before me since he knew I would get home fine, but now I was kind of wishing that I had gone with him. "Look, there's Larry."

"Where?"

"Down there on a stretcher." I sit up and turn my head to look out the window, barely able to make out anything in the darkness. The flashing lights of the firetruck illuminated the front lawn in flashes of red and blue, allowing me a brief glimpse of the loser next door being carted out by two muscular EMT's. "They haven't brought anyone else out yet. You think Lorraine and the girls died?"

"Lorraine probably set the fire."

"Yeah, she wasn't really stable after she had their youngest brat." I nod along with him, resting my head against his shoulder again. Tate was always a sure thing in my life, always willing to be my personal space heater on the nights where I couldn't seem to get warm. "I love you, Tabby Cat."

"Love you too, Tater Tot."

** 2011 **

It was surprisingly easy to drive Vivien insane since she was already on edge due to her pregnancy. She knew something wasn't right about those babies in her belly and I did, too; one of them gave off a vibe that was extremely familiar to me, it was purely Tate. The other was probably human considering I didn't feel any pull towards it; the other didn't matter to me.

"Good evening, Vietnam," I yell as I walk into Vivien's bedroom, laughing as her eyes snap open in alarm. She was the only living person that could hear me right now, the only living person in the entire house that could see me as I gave a vicious tug on her hair. "It's 2100 hours and, oh, dear God, is it late! What better time for a little nighttime torture, eh?" Vivien scrambles to sit up, her swollen stomach not helping her struggles any.

"Who are you," she demands, voice hoarse from fear.

"I'm the chick that's been fucking your hubby, Viv! The cute one, not the crazed one. Y'know, I think he has a thing for young girls with daddy issues." She reaches for the drawer in her nightstand where the lifeline was stashed, but I give another hard yank on her hair that had her falling flat on the bed again. "Not so fast, sweetie pie! The fun's just getting started." And, to make Vivien's frail hold on her sanity slip just a bit more, I allow myself to disappear.

"Where are you?" Her voice was still hoarse, but was gaining in volume. "Tabitha!" Tate appeared at the same time that I left, a black silhouette behind the gauzy curtains as he paced to and fro. She sits up quickly and flicks on the lights above her bed, Tate disappearing as soon as the light hits him. We were good at our job after seventeen years of playing our games.

Vivien stands, a little more hesitant and a lot more scared, crossing the room and throwing the curtains back one at a time like she expected to still see him there. Tate had dressed himself in the black rubber suit, all the more terrifying for Vivien when she realizes that it had been Tate she fucked all those months ago instead of her own husband.

Slowly, she moves just far enough away from the windows that Tate can come up behind her, grabbing for her neck and hair. Vivien squirms away with a scream, launching herself across the room and colliding with the nightstand, her hands instinctively looking for purchase on the wall and accidentally shutting the lights off. She collapses on the bed, pulling out her little remote and pressing the button repeatedly for the home security company to send someone out.

"Hate to break it to you," Tate says, words muffled because of the latex," but that security guard of yours can't help you now." The drawer of the nightstand was like a magician's hat, seeming so small yet able to hold the pistol that she pulls out of it next. Unfortunately, what she did next signaled a temporary pause to the game. Ben barges inside just as Vivien squeezes the trigger, the bullet propelled forward and straight through Ben's abdomen before Vivien could register just who she was shooting at. With a gleeful smile, I bend down to whisper in Vivien's ear.

"Missed us, sweetheart."

After Violet burst into the room and Ben had sedated Vivien before she could shoot anyone else, they called the police and an ambulance. Honestly, it just seemed like a lot of fuss for a simple bullet wound that just needed a few stitches. "When is she gonna wake up," Hayden complains, the pregnant ghost pacing around the bedroom while Tate and I looked down at the flashing lights outside.

"He gave her a Valium and she's a lightweight," Tate answers distractedly, fiddling with the mask in his hands," it'll take a while for her to sleep it off."

"What happens if I make her wake up right now?"

"Then she'll be groggy and slow, there's no fun in that." Hayden, in my opinion, was a petty and vindictive asshole who deserved her grave under the gazebo. I may not be any kind of a saint and I do tend to sleep with older married men, but at least I would never hold a baby over their heads or get pissy when the guy wants to go back to his wife. "Just let her sleep for now."

"No, we won't have time." She storms over to the bed and leans over Vivien, her right hand clenched into a fist around the little remote for the alarm system. "Wake up!" I knew what it was like to be jerked out of a drugged slumber, everything would be hazy and distorted for Vivien and her stomach would feel like she'd gone on a Tilt-A-Whirl after eating a big meal.

"Impatient bitch," I mutter, zipping up the back of the mask as Tate slides it back on. While it would be nice to have Vivien out of the house, it would also mean fewer games to play. Vivien, barely conscious, wiggles her way across the bed and opens the drawer to her nightstand, but the gun was in police custody and the remote had been removed. "Looking for your lifeline?" Hayden flashed to the middle of the room to make sure Vivien could see her as she threw the remote on the ground, stamping on it and sending pieces of plastic scattering across the room.

"Don't mind her, Viv, she's just jealous." Vivien's eyes snap to me when I become visible, blinking slowly as she fought against the drug. "This is a pretty bad trip, ain't it? It's about to get a whole lot worse."

"Tabitha," she slurs," Hayden, you two can fight over Ben as much as you want, you can have him for all I care, because the two of us aren't together anymore."

"Nah, it was fun at first, but now he wants to share his emotions with me and it's a total turn-off."

"I agree, he gets so emotional sometimes."

"He's pathetic," Hayden adds hatefully.

"Yes, he is." Vivien nods along, unaware of Tate whispering the words in her ear. Had she been more lucid, she would have realized the voice in her head didn't belong to her. "He's an asshole and he's hurt all of us so much. We should all just walk away from him and leave him to clean up the mess."

"Where's the fun in that," I ask with a grin. "I don't want to leave him alone; I want to make him feel isolated and depressed just like his sweet little girl. After all, I didn't get to have a dad around that I could trust, so why should she?"

"You know," Hayden takes over," I used to think that I was so privileged since I was beautiful and white, not to mention having an IQ higher than everyone's in this room, but then Ben happened." She clenches her jaw as her emotions swelled, forever suffering from mood swings and brutal cravings. "He took away the one thing I knew for sure that I wanted, but now I get to take that away from him. I need your babies, Vivien."

"You're sick, Hayden," Vivien moans, rolling onto her back with one hand curled protectively over her stomach. "You need to go get some help."

"I'm dead, Viv, the only person who can help me now is Melinda fucking Gordon! But right now, you're the one that needs some help. I'd like you to meet someone you're very close to."

"Entering stage right,” I announce with a wicked grin,” your baby daddy." Tate leaps out of the shadows and Vivien throws herself sideways to avoid him, scrambling to get off the bed only to have Tate land on top of her back. "What's wrong? You were so hot and ready for him a few months ago."

"No," she screeches, throwing him off of her and crawling for the end of the bed. Tate's faster than she'll ever be, grabbing ahold of her robe to try and hold her in place beneath him. The struggle lands them both on the hard floor, Tate forcing her onto her back and settling between her thighs like he belonged there. "Ben, help me! Somebody!"

"I hope you don't mind a bit of domination."

"You better not," Hayden says with a smirk," because he's all hard and ready for round two." Ben and a uniformed black guy come running into the room, unaware of the three of us as Ben swiftly takes my brother's place, kneeling between Vivien's legs and holding her wrists down as she continued to scream and fight.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he shouts down at her as Tate moves to stand beside me. Her husband's voice makes her open her eyes, relaxing against his hold when she realizes she's not being tormented. "You're safe now, no one's going to hurt you."

"Where'd he go," she whimpers, looking around and not finding us.

"I'm right here."

"No, there's another man. He was just here, how could you not have seen him?" Ben and the other guy help her to stand up, the black guy's eyes moving around the room as he tried to find the attacker. _We're right here, buckaroo_. I smile a little, leaning back in my brother's arms as we watched the scene. "He was attacking me."

"Who are you talking about, Vivien," the black guy asks. _Is he a cop?_ It wouldn't make any real difference, she still looked like someone from the loony bin.

"T-the guy, the rapist in the rubber suit that was just attacking me." She looks around too, but the three of us had made ourselves invisible to the human eye. What better way to drive a person crazy than to make them think they're hallucinating?

"I haven't seen anyone in a suit tonight."

"Ben knows the suit I'm talking about." She turns a pleading gaze to him, reaching out to touch him and then letting her hand fall back to her side. "It's the one from the attic, the one I told you to throw out when we first moved in. God, Hayden and Tabitha were working with him. They wanted him to hurt me! Hayden said they were dead and that she was going to take my babies."

"Viv," Ben starts, but Vivien cuts him off.

"Hayden! Tabitha, get out here right now!"

"Vivien," Ben says loudly to get her attention," I haven't seen Hayden since Luke drove off with her and Tabitha's at a rave with her brother. It was all she could talk about this afternoon and I doubt she's the type to torment a woman she doesn't even know."

"No, they were right here! I bet her stupid brother's the one they had dressed up in that suit!" Ben and Luke share a look, mouths set in grim lines as they came to the conclusion that she's gone completely bonkers. "They were…." She trails off with another whimper, hands floundering at her sides as she tried to communicate what had happened.

"They're ready for her," Violet says sadly as she comes into the room, unable to meet her mom's gaze. There's a moment of tense silence as two police officers come into the room, Vivien too stunned to do much of anything.

"What's going on?"

" _They're coming to take you away_ ," I sing directly in her ear _," to the Funny Farm, where life is beautiful all the time_." She whirls around to face me, unable to see me yet knowing I was there. "Don't forget to write, Viv."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else kind of disappointed in the show's finale last night? I was excited because they brought back the guy who plays Cricket since he's adorable af (especially on Reba), and then the shit hit the fan.


	15. Such Violent Things

** 1992 **

Tate frowns as he sits up in bed, tired of just staring up at the boring, white ceiling. His desk was right across the room, a small vial of coke in the middle drawer with a little tray to cut it on and a straw; in the top right drawer, he knew Tabby had hidden some weed and rolling papers, top left was some cash and a handgun he'd stolen from a pawnshop last month.

He wondered what would happen if he grabbed the gun and shot his mother. Would there be a deafening bang like in the movies, a perfect arc of blood that would paint her walls? And how long would it take for the cops to show up and arrest him? No, he couldn't be caught, that would mean being away from his twin and he needed her just like she needed him. They were one in the same, sharing a womb and everything else since they were conceived.

He runs his fingers through his curls, wincing when they snag on a knot. Tabby and Addie loved his hair and the only reason he kept it long was because the two would play with it when they were bored. _Tabby likes to hold onto my curls when I make her come, too_. He smiles at the thought, still shocked that his twin would want him like that even after a year of being together in every way possible. He'd thought himself sick when he first fantasized about her, but then he'd walked in on her moaning his name and he realized it was a fantasy they shared.

Just thinking about her back then—eyes closed, mouth open, a hand between her legs as she writhed against her covers—and he was regretting wearing his pajamas to bed. The pants were constricting and tight, rubbing against him every time he shifted to get comfortable. Eventually he just gives up on sleep, throwing the blanket off of him and standing up. Maybe tonight would be the night Tabby actually let him fuck her? So far, it was just a lot of dry-humping and oral, but he longed to be inside her.

He opens his door and walks across the hall, leaning his shoulder against his sister's doorjamb and rapping on the door with his knuckles. Normally she'd be awake until at least two in the morning, drawing whatever image wouldn't leave her mind at the time, but she always opened her door when he knocked. He frowns when he hears a muffled sound from inside that was followed by a violent thump against the wall. Tate doesn't hesitate, throwing the door open and storming inside, ready to fight whoever was making those noises.

Tabby was pinned to the bed, Constance's newest boyfriend lying on top of her and trying to capture her free arm. He hadn't noticed Tate's entrance and so didn't expect to be lifted off the bed and thrown to the ground with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. Tate's temper was only reinforced by the cut he saw on his twin's cheek, a single line of red that was just deep enough to bleed.

"Bastard," Tate growls, bringing down one of his feet on the man's back as hard as he could. He did it over and over again until he felt a small hand on the bare skin of his back. "I'm going to kill him!"

"You will," Tabby promises, breath hot on his ear as she rises up on her toes," _we_ will do it together, but not in my room." Tate meets her gaze, seeing the same hate burning in her eyes and the way her entire body was trembling. "Help me get him to the shed out back." He nods, sliding his hands under the man's arms while Tabby picked up his feet, the two of them making their slow way down the stairs and out of the house. The shed wasn't very large, just big enough for the three of them, and filled with all of Constance's gardening tools that she never used.

"What now?" Tabby moves to the back wall of the shed, grinning when she turns again with an ax in hand. The boyfriend let out a hoarse sound of panic, wriggling on the floor and unable to get far because of his injuries. "You go first, you were the one he was hurting."

He watched with a feral grin of his own as his sister raised the ax above her head and brought it down in a vicious blow. Blood spurted from the man's crotch and he let out a pitiful howl, though it wasn't loud enough to alert anyone. Tate had probably broken a rib or two during the first attack, which led to a punctured lung and being unable to make much noise. She lifted the ax again and hacked at the man's side, blood flung outwards when she yanked her weapon out.

"My turn," he growls, grabbing the ax from her and using the blunt end to bash the side of the man's head. Tate wasn't sure of his name, had never met the man before he picked Constance up earlier that evening, but Tate didn't exactly care about names as he brought the ax down again and again until the man's face was nothing but a bloody mess. Breathing heavily, he lets the ax drop to the ground and looks to his twin.

Her chest was rising and falling quickly, the black silk of her nightgown doing nothing to hide her hardened nipples from his gaze. He'd been hard before he came to her room, but seeing the flush of exhilaration in her face, the blood splattered over the tanned skin of her chest, Tate wanted her now more than he ever has.

Tabby seemed to sense his thoughts, stepping over the man's body so she could yank Tate down into a bruising kiss. Her body was warm against his, soft where his was hard, and it felt so perfect against his. He wraps an arm around her waist to keep her close to him, his other hand filled with her ass while the fingers of both of her hands were buried in his curls. She controlled the kiss, controlled all of their interactions, and it just made him want her even more.

"Tabby," he groans as her lips travel to his neck," I want you so bad." While she was sucking and licking his neck, one of her hands had wandered down his body to grip him through his pants, her teasing touch making him hiss. Her hand slips under the waistband and her grasp on him had his head falling back against the rusted metal wall.

"Fuck me, Tate," she breathes against his chest," I need you inside me right now."

** 2011 **

The basement was as dismal as it ever was even with the sunlight flooding inside from the opened windows, the air stuffy and suffocating. Still, I push on ahead towards the sound of Constance screaming, finding her standing over my twin and slapping him repeatedly as he cowered on the cold floor. "Do you have any idea of what you've done," she demands shrilly, punctuating her words with more hard slaps to his head.

"Hey," I snap, striding over and pushing her away from him. "Don't you ever hit him again!" Tears were flowing down her cheeks and I could see the regret in her eyes, but it was still taking everything I had not to just end the bitch right here and now. "Next time you come here and think you can abuse my brother, it'll be the stairs that I push you down."

"Do you know what your brother's done?"

"Yeah, he got the bitch of the house pregnant. Big fucking deal." She shakes her head in disgust, clasping her hands together tightly.

"I should've let those social workers take you both when I had the chance," she snarls hatefully. "It would've saved me a lot of misery."

"I wish you had." Those words seemed to hurt her more than anything, Constance drawing in a breath and shaking her head. "Get out before I make you a permanent resident of this stupid fucking house, Constance." I wait until she's on the upper level of the house before I kneel in front of Tate, pulling his hands away from his face and holding him against me. "It's alright, Tate, I've got you."

"I didn't mean to," he sobs against my shoulder, clinging to me tightly. "I didn't want to do it, but the house told me to, Tabby Cat."

"I know, honey, it's not your fault." I heard the house whispering sometimes, such violent things that would urge its captors to act out. Is it the house's fault that Daddy hurt us? I don't think I'll ever get that answer. "The house makes us do things, we don't have the control we think we do." I had wanted to stop seeing Ben a few months ago, but the house was whispering and Ben could hear it, too. It propelled Ben's depression, corrupted more of the soul I barely had a grasp on.

"I'm scared it's gonna make me hurt Violet."

"No, Violet can't be hurt by this house anymore. It's already done its job on her." And she doesn't even know it, too busy with her life and delusions that she doesn't even notice that she hasn't eaten anything in nearly a month. "Calm down, we'll figure all of this out, I promise. Think of it this way, you'll finally have the baby you always wanted."

"I wanted the baby with you, though." I press my lips together to keep them from wobbling, my hold on him tightening. "Didn't you ever want a baby?"

"No." And even if I did, it would've been impossible after what Daddy had done to me. Constance took me to see an OB/GYN when I turned sixteen to make sure everything was okay, but the abuse had messed something up and it led to my tubes being tied because giving birth could send me into shock. It didn't make much sense to me, everything from that day was a drug-fueled haze, but the result was the same. I'll never hold my baby in my arms and it was best just to drop the subject entirely. "Come on, let's go sit outside before it gets too cold."


	16. Deep Breaths

**1994**

Thanksgiving was just another one of those holidays that had gotten progressively more commercialized as time went on, the commercials showing happy families sitting down for a homecooked meal of turkey and mashed potatoes while sharing smiles and pretending their lives didn't suck complete ass. Unfortunately, Thanksgiving in the Langdon household meant shoving a lot of drama and bitchiness under the rug.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Constance announces as she comes into the dining room," the ham." It was like something from a movie set, perfectly cooked and covered in a brown sugar glaze, decorated with pineapple slices and cherries. I came in next with the cornbread, setting the bowl down on the table before taking my seat across from Tate. "Who'd like to say grace?"

"Can I do it, Mother," Tate asks with one of those false smiles. Today was complete bullshit and the only good part of it was all the food, but one glance at Tate told me that Constance's patience was about to be snapped in two.

"That'd be lovely, son," Larry says with his own smile. "I was hoping you'd chose to be a part of this family. Now we just have to convince Tabby that's it's perfectly acceptable." The look I send his way is nothing short of  _I'll bury you in the backyard and dance on your grave_. The message was clearly received, Larry clearing his throat and avoiding my gaze as we all join hands and bow our heads in prayer.

"Dear God, thank you for this salty pig meat we are about to eat along with the rest of the indigestible swill." I do my best to muffle a snort, grinning at my twin as he continues. "And thank you for our new charade of a family. My father ran away when I was only six, if I'd known any better, I would've went with him." Constance slaps the back of Tate's hand, but keeps her thin lips pressed tightly together.

"How could we have known that our father was so smart," I pick up where Tate left off. "Obviously he knew what the next fifty years with Constance would do to a person, so he left before she had the chance to put his balls in her purse and cart them around like a trophy."

"And let's not forget about the asshole that cheated on his wife with our mother. He has to be a special kind of stupid if he thinks she actually loves him and she's not just using him to get back into her dream house."

"Amen," Addie concludes with a broad grin. Constance keeps her mouth closed, but lights up a cigarette and takes a deep drag off of it. She'd wanted this day to be perfect, but Tate and I had run that idea right into the ground.

"I know the two of you have had a hard time adjusting to everything after the horrible tragedy I suffered through."

"Are you talking about the time you told your wife you were leaving her for an older woman," I interrupt," or when she took the news badly and burned herself and your children alive in her own bedroom?"

"That wasn't my fault."

"Then whose fault was it," Tate demands," because it sure as shit looks like your fault from where I'm sitting. If you had kept your dick in your pants, then you'd probably be helping Lorraine put the girls to bed right about now."

"No, that was just her emotions running a little high. I hope you'll understand one day."

"Did you hear that, Addie? Lawrence here hopes that my future wife and children will die horribly because of me." Larry huffs and turns his gaze to Constance, training his face into an expression bordering on excitement.

"To change the subject, I've seen to it that all of you will have tickets for the community theater's opening night of _Brigadoon_. I'm proud to say I will be front and center in the chorus." I take the bowl of cornbread rolls from Larry and pass them to my sister, sharing a look with Tate over the table. It was fucking ridiculous, Larry deluding himself into believing that he'd played no part in the deaths of three people. Not only that, he'd smothered my older brother not too long ago and everyone was pretending that everything was A-Okay.

"I'll be there with bells on," Constance vows, raising her glass of wine.

"Thank you, darling. You're always so supportive and encouraging in these matters, it's allowed me to discover a part of me I didn't know existed."

"I can't wait," Addie says happily," the theater's always fun to go see!"

"No," Tate screams as his fist slams down on his plate, shattering the delicate china and fucking up his hand. "Don't buy into their bullshit, Addie! You're too smart to be so oblivious to the fact that he killed our brother and Constance made him do it!"

"That's enough," Constance finally snaps. "You know good and well that your brother has always had breathing problems and they're what killed him. Beau's in a better place and he's not suffering anymore, so why must you continue to slander Larry's name like this?"

"He was only suffering because of you!" Tears were streaming down his cheeks and Constance's eyes were glimmering with tears of her own, but I watched it all in stony silence. Beau's murder was a tender subject and Tate had taken it like a blow to the head, his world spinning and his drug use increasing with each day that passed.

"I don't understand why you can't see the gifts you were blessed with. Unlike your siblings, you have the ability to open the gates of Heaven with just one of your beautiful smiles, but you're choosing the path that will only bring you pain and hardship." I clench my jaw and stare down at my plate, looking at the chandelier's warped reflection in the porcelain. It was no secret that Constance had finally given up on me, but Tate had always been her favorite of the bunch and that meant her trying to make him better even if it killed her.

"You might as well not hold your breath, Constance, because I will do everything in my power not to be your perfect son."

**2011**

Crawling around in the damp spaces under the house was the last thing I wanted to be doing on my Thursday afternoon, but that's exactly what was happening all because Ben had gone and hired a fucking exterminator. The only consolation I had was that at least I would get to kill someone today and release some pent-up anger. It's like ever since I remembered what Daddy had done to me, the emotions were slipping through the cracks faster than I could hide them away and murder was the perfect opportunity to help me with that.

"This guy's a total moron," I complain as the man comes closer and closer to our hiding spot. Not only did he talk in a phony Schwarzenegger voice, but he was talking to the damn  _bugs_.

"Yeah," Tate agrees," and we'll be stuck with him forever if he finds our little secret." I make a face at that, looking to my left at the pit, the rotting carcass of Violet curled up inside. Her skin had gone taunt and gray against her bones, parts of it starting to peel back, and stinking of old fruit.

Just as Tate and I hoped wouldn't happen, Phil crawls right up to the pit and stares down at the body, wailing in fright as he scrambles to back away. I couldn't blame him, seeing Violet with a mouthful of flies was pretty horrific, but it must be really bad for a man who's only seen the bodies of bugs before.

"Fantastic, he's a screamer." We allow him to back himself up against the brick foundation before pouncing, Tate blinding him with the beam of his fallen flashlight while I sat on top of him to keep him from getting away. "You're a murderer, Phil," Tate screams at him," and it's time for you to repent for the countless innocent lives you've stolen."

"And how should we make him do that, brother dearest?"

"With the very thing that took the lives of course." I hand him the extension wand of the insecticide sprayer and Tate jams it down Phil's throat in one smooth move. Phil's body spasms uncontrollably beneath me as I start pumping the chemicals into him, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head and the whites almost glowing in the yellow beam of his flashlight. When Phil goes slump against the bricks, Tate and I allow ourselves to relax. "Think you can take care of the body?"

"Yeah, go kick Violet's ass in chess." He presses a lingering kiss against my lips, instinctively holding me close to him as well as he could since I was still straddling the corpse.

"You're the best sister in the world."

"I'm well aware of that fact," I giggle, pushing at his chest. "Now get out of here before she gets suspicious."

* * *

 It was the sounds of fighting that drew me from the bathroom, my flip-flops sliding easily against the wood floors as I made my way to the back of the house where the bedrooms were. I had expected to find Ben trying to kill Larry again since they seemed to be permanently pissed at each other, but it was Tate in the rubber suit that was trying to beat Ben senseless.

"Fucking really," I demand, knowing only my brother could hear me at the moment," this can't wait until I've had a shower?"

Tate growls in return as he throws Ben against a bookshelf in the corner of the master bedroom, Ben's weight making the entire thing collapse. Ben isn't given the chance to fight again as Tate wraps an arm around his bare chest and grabs a fistful of wet hair, dragging him two feet away and slamming Ben's head against a table. It was exciting to see Tate fighting again, but I wanted more, I wanted to be part of it.

I move away from the bedroom door and swipe the handkerchief off the floor before kneeling in front of Ben with it. He lashes out as I press it over his nose and mouth, one flailing hand nailing me on the face and knocking me backwards.

"Goddamn it," I hiss, sitting back up and allowing him to see me. I wanted him to know I'd be the one helping to end him, and the betrayal in his blue eyes was better than any orgasm he'd ever given me. "Hold him tight." Tate does as I'd ordered, holding Ben up against his chest so I could cover his mouth and nose with the chloroform-soaked rag again. His movements became sluggish as he breathed in the chemical, but he still retained enough strength to pull the mask off Tate's head, blue eyes widening even more as he met and held Tate's gaze in the mirror behind me. "Deep breaths, Princess."

And then Ben was out like a light.


	17. My Name is Death

** 1983 **

The interrogation room was cold as I was led inside by a detective and the metal seat he sat me down on was even colder. The room was small, the size of my bathroom at home, and there was a big mirror across from the table I was seated at. "Why am I here," I ask as the detective sits on the table.

"Tabitha, I need to ask you some questions. Think you can answer them?" I shrug, grasping my bunny tighter in my arms. Daddy gave it to me before I got sick because he was sorry, it was fuzzy and white and fit perfectly against my side. "Do you know where your Daddy is?" I tense slightly, my gaze dropping to my ballerina slippers as I swing my feet back and forth.

"Ran away."

"Did you see him pack any bags or drive away?" I shrug again, avoiding his stare as I tried to remember what Constance had told me. She didn't want Tater Tot to know Daddy was dead, she made up a story to keep Tate from being too sad. She cared about my brother and knowing Daddy had been murdered would break him.

"I was home sick from school," I recite," Daddy gave me my medicine and told me he loved me. He kissed my head and gave me my bunny, he said that he would see me again when I woke up, but he was gone." I sniffle, hugging my bunny and breathing in the smell of Daddy's cologne that clung to it.

"So, you didn't see him leave or hear his car?"

"No, Mama told me he'd left while I was asleep and she was put picking up my prescripture."

"Prescription?" I nod, wanting to just go home already where it was warm and Addie would hug me. Addie was the best hugger ever; she was always smiling and playing games with me. Beau liked to roll his little red ball, but he was too loud and too big for me to play with.

"Take me home, I'm tired."

** 2011 **

" _Oh, Death, oh, Death, oh, Death,_ " I sing to myself as I walk through the house," _won't you spare me over 'til another year? But what is this that I can't see with ice-cold hands, taking hold of me? When God is gone and the Devil takes hold, who'll have mercy on your soul? Oh, Death, oh, Death, oh, Death_."

Nora and her husband were huddled together as I enter the basement, Nora inconsolable as she always seemed to be and Charles rubbing her back soothingly. He was a haggard man, skinny from skipping meals because of the Ether he sniffed, lines carved into his face from all the stress he'd faced when he was alive. He was handsome in a way, but nowhere near his wife's league. With her pale hair and button nose, Nora Montgomery was the very definition of All-American Girl.

"Where is he," I demand, continuing in the direction that Charles pointed. They both knew who I'd come to see and they both turned their backs to me like it would change anything. Hugo was standing under a beam of sunlight, head tilted back as it bathed him in golden light. His hair seemed almost red in some spots, glinting like copper amongst the sea of plain brown. I clear my throat to get his attention, Hugo turning and looking me over with a lecherous smile.

"My Tabby Cat," he greets," I thought you'd forgotten about me." _If only that were actually possible_. The time for forgetting what he'd done was too far away for me to grasp at, every horrible memory fighting for attention no matter what I was doing. "What is it, baby?"

"Don't call me that." His brows scrunch together and it's almost weird to remember that I did the same face whenever I was confused. I'd developed several of his mannerisms over the years, most of them unconscious things, and it made me sick to my stomach to know how much like him I've become.

"What do you mean? I've always called you that."

"You've always done a lot of things, but most of them aren't something to mention in polite company." I move closer to him, hiding my weapon behind my back, held in a gloved hand to keep it from burning me. "Do you remember?"

"I don't know what you're talking about?" I lick my lips, struggling to keep the fear bubbling in my belly to a minimum. I didn't have to be scared of this man anymore, he was just another weak ghost and I was stronger than him. _I can do this, he's not able to hurt me anymore. It's not my fault, it's not my fault..._

"It wasn't my fault," I say aloud," everything you did to me was never my fault." He shakes his head, but doesn't move an inch as I stop with a foot of space between us. "You hurt me almost every night when I was little, you made me disconnect from my emotions so I wouldn’t have to feel anything you did, _you broke me_."

"Tabby Cat—"

"I said you don't get to call me that! You don't get to talk or even look at me anymore because I'm better than you!" I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as I grip my weapon even tighter. "I could handle it if it was just me that you completely fucked up, but you ruined my brother's life, too. That's something I won't tolerate and you need to pay for what you've done, Hugo."

"I'm sorry."

"The sorriest person I know, don't worry. Now get on your knees." He falls to the ground, knees cracking when they hit the concrete and making him muffle a whimper of pain. "I learned a lot of neat stuff since I was murdered, but the trick I'm about to show you is a little something I picked up from watching too much TV. I know it's not healthy to binge watch a new show every day, but what else do I have to do in my spare time?"

"Tabby, ple—" His words are swallowed up by a shout as I bring the iron bar down hard on his head, Hugo flying sideways to the ground. His skull had cracked slightly and a trail of blood was rushing down the side of his face, mingling with the tears. "Please, no!"

I bring the bar down again, hitting his side, his legs, anywhere I could reach that would crack bone. Everywhere the iron had touched was burnt an angry red, blisters forming and popping in rapid succession. I bring it down one last time, watching in satisfaction as his body goes limp. He wasn't unconscious, just in too much pain to move or breathe, paralyzed for the next few hours if I did my job right.

" _No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold_ ," I sing, dropping the bar to the ground," _nothing satisfies me, but your soul. Oh, Death. Well, I am Death, none can excel, I'll open the door to heaven or hell. Oh, Death, oh, Death_."

I turn with a bright grin, waltzing out of the basement room with no fear. Hugo was nothing more than a cockroach, easily crushed under the toe of my expensive heels, and there was no way he could hurt me anymore. I wasn't free of the pain he's caused me, but the fear and the panic had disappeared with his front teeth.

" _My name is Death and the end is near_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is “Oh, Death” by Jen Titus if y’all want to listen to it! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6crMKpLx7r8
> 
> Outfits: http://www.polyvore.com/american_horror_story_murder_house/collection?id=4399081


	18. Babies

 

"Any particular reason why Haley Joel is in our living room," I ask as I enter Tate's old bedroom, flopping backwards on the bed next to my brother.

"She's trying to help Violet keep her little brothers safe," he murmurs. "The gays down the hall are hell bent on cutting Vivien open and claiming the babies as theirs."

"They touch my nephew and I'll make what you did to them seem like an affectionate pat on the head." Protectiveness surged in me, making me wish I had brought the iron bar with me upstairs so I could beat me a couple homicidal assholes. The emotion fades when I feel Tate cover my hand with one of his, a soothing balm that made me relax completely. We had a few moments of silence where we were able to rest against each other, alone with our thoughts, but it was broken when Violet came running into the room.

"What'd she say?" I sit up slowly and give Violet a nod of recognition, running a hand through my hair. Until just last week, I'd never so much as given Violet a hello, but now Tate was wanting the two of us to get along since we were the most important people in his life.

"She said we have to have something important to each of them," Violet explains," then we can perform a spell to banish them from the house. The only problem is that it has to be super important to them."

"Anyone else here smell bullshit?"

"But obviously Billie Dean isn't a phony since she sensed you before you said anything earlier." I roll my eyes and stand up, pacing the room with my brother as I tried to come up with a better plan that didn't involve the ritual beheading of a chicken. "Do either of you have a better idea?"

"Trust me," I remark," if I did then I wouldn't have let you prattle on about a Craigslist psychic who couldn't tell a banishment spell from a recipe for banana bread."

"You think the two of you could get something from the big guy while I deal with Chad?" Tate and I share a look, pausing as we meet in the middle of the room. "He's had a ring on every time I’ve seen him, so maybe Tate could pin him down and you could slide it off before meeting me back in here?"

"Do you trust her, Tate?"

"Not as far as I can throw her," he answers with a frown. "She said mean things about me and she's never even met me before." I press my lips together for a moment, seeing the hurt in his eyes as he looks between me and Violet. "Did I do something bad when I was alive?"

"Nothing you need to worry about right now. Go on ahead and I'll be there in a sec." I wait until he's left the room before facing Violet, giving her an exasperated look. "He forgets sometimes, memories are hard to cling to when you're dead."

"But he killed at least fifteen people."

"He's killed way more than fifteen people, but that's beside the point. All he really knows is that our mother was the world's biggest bitch when we were growing up, our dad was absent most of our lives, he did a lot of drugs to forget things, and then he was shot by the friggin' SWAT team in his own bedroom."

"What about you? How'd you die?" I hug myself, remembering the way my lungs had burned as I desperately attempted to suck in air. Drowning just plain hurt, it was slow and horrible, and I don't think that's something I'll ever forget.

"It doesn't matter. Just go and find something of Chad's while I give Pat a beating he won't forget." I leave the room as quickly as I can, going across the hall to the nursery where my room used to be. It's been repainted since the last time I was in here, a snowy white with a seafoam green trim and little animals painted along the top of the walls; two cribs were put together in the center of the room, the plain one white while the more elaborate one had been painted a pretty red color. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Not much," Tate responds with a shrug of his shoulders," Pat here was just letting off a little steam." Tate's nose was bloody and so was Pat's forehead, making me arch a brow when I realize what had happened.

"Really? I thought headbutting had gone out of style with platform shoes." Pat just growls, landing a good punch to Tate's stomach and another to the side of his face, drawing more blood and knocking Tate to the ground.

"Harder! I like it rough." Grinning, I grab a nearby bucket of paint and slam it against the back of Pat's pretty, blonde head. "Oh, that's my girl!"

"Don't worry Pat, you're not the only submissive in the room." Pat rises to his full height, towering over me with his chest puffed out. "I'm no JungleJim, but I'm sure I can give you that same feeling of submissiveness." With a yell, he tackles me to the ground and manages to actually land a blow before Tate jumped on his back. I grab onto his hand as Tate yanks him backwards, the ring sliding off without Pat even realizing it.

"My life wasn't supposed to be like this," he cries out, elbowing Tate hard in the stomach. "I was supposed to be living with the man I love, not that little bitch you forced me to be stuck with in this Godforsaken house!"

"Wow, Pat, just tell him what you really feel." He goes rigid, fist still drawn back as he looks over his shoulder and spots his darling hubby filling the doorway. Chad stares at the mess for a moment, dark eyes landing on the ever-expanding green paint spilling out of the bucket, then he was gone and Pat was running after him. "This stupid spell had better work or I want a refund."

"I'm sure Billie will happily give you one," Tate grunts, helping me up off the ground. "Did you get the ring?"

"Would I have let him run off like that if I didn't?" Leaning on each other, we limp back to Violet's room and plop down on the bed, waiting for our injuries to heal so we could walk without hurting. It didn't take long before Violet was bursting inside as she had earlier, holding up a Rolex victoriously.

"Nice, so are we ready to do this?"

"Violet!" All of us jump when Ben starts screaming downstairs, the front door slamming shut with a loud _bang_. "Violet, where are you?!" She makes a shooing motion, Tate and I allowing ourselves to turn invisible so it seemed Violet was by herself. Not three seconds later, the door was opening to reveal Ben on the other side. "Hurry up, we've got a plane to catch and your mom's waiting for us in the car."

"Go without me," Violet says in return, staying in the middle of her room.

"What?"

"You heard me, take Mom and leave this place as fast as you can. You can come visit me after the twins are born, but Mom can't be here right now. I'll be fine, just go."

"That's out of the question, Violet, we're not leaving you behind."

"Trust me, okay? Tell Mom I love her and take care of the babies—" Ben charges forward and grabs her upper arms tightly, shaking her slightly. I have to grab onto Tate to keep him from blowing the secret, jerking him backwards with a stern look. This wasn't any of our business, but I knew he wouldn't leave without knowing what happened.

"Are you high right now? Is that why you snuck out of the car on the way to pick up your mom?"

"I wish that was my problem. I really wanted to come with you to see her, I swear I did, but I'm not able to leave the house." Ben shakes her again, just barely, but it was enough to make Tate try to get out of the hold I had on his sweater.

"What the hell did you take? Tell me right now!"

"Jesus Christ," Violet finally shouts as tears fill her eyes," I've been dead for months and you never even realized it! You guys have to get out of here because you're stuck in this house if you die on the property." A car horn blared outside, a prelude to Vivien screaming for them to hurry up. "Please, take her somewhere safe and far from this house."

"I intend to, but you're coming with me no matter what your delusions make you think." He releases one of her arms and uses the other to drag her out of her bedroom, Tate and I following silently behind them. The screams grew louder as they came down the stairs, finding Vivien and Constance standing just inside the entryway with a puddle of water forming beneath Vivien.

"Great," I mutter," she's in labor."

"What do we do," Tate demands, brown eyes locking with my blue ones. Desperation was carved into every line of his face, it hurt to know there was nothing I could do to soothe him. "What do we do, Tabby?"

"Go back upstairs and cover your ears." I look over my shoulder at the whimpering woman as she's led into the living room, her legs bowing as the contractions hit again. "I'll handle this." Tate looked unsure and terrified, but he snaps out of the stupor after I slap the back of his head. "Go!"

"What do we do," Violet demands in a panic, forced to talk over Vivien's constant screaming and the sound of shattering glass.

"Go do that ritual that the psychic gave you and I'll stay here with your mom to make sure those asshats don't get their hands on the babies." She doesn't look convinced, her gaze switching between me and her mother. "When I say I'll do something, then I'll do it, Violet. Now get the fuck out of here and banish those fuckers from this house!" Just like Tate, it was the spur Violet needed and she sprints towards the basement. No sooner was she starting down the stairs than the lights go out. "This day just keeps getting better and better."

"Tabitha," Constance calls from the living room," go and get those candles from the attic!" I close my eyes and picture the attic, using the house's mojo to transport me there right in front of the box of candles Tate and I hoarded when we were alive. It was completely full of all kinds of candles, mostly used because Larry didn't approve of lit fires in his home after what happened to his wife and kids. It's heavier than I remember it being, but I'm able to bear its weight as I transport myself back into the living room, letting it drop to the ground.

"Nora, get your hoity-toity ass over here and help me set them out." The blonde gives a prim little sniff, but joins me all the same. Working together, we had the candles set on every available surface and lit by the time Ben and Constance wandered back in. Nora hides from Ben's gaze, but the rest of us stay where we're at. There was no need to be afraid, no need to hide during the big event, Ben was just shit out of luck.

"Tabitha," Ben murmurs when he spots me. "No, you can't be here."

"Trust me, you're gonna want me here in the end." Charles was kneeling in front of the weird little couch Vivien was sprawled out on, a white surgical gown and gloves keeping him from being drenched in the blood that accompanied birth.

"Get me the twelve-gauge scalpel out of my medical bag," Charles instructs, Gladys doing what he said while Maria brought in clean towels for the babies and the mother. I couldn't do much considering I know squat about what was to come, but I have to be here for my nephew's birth. "Spread the towels out beneath her. Tabitha, get over here and wipe the sweat from my brow."

"You're dead, bro, how are you even sweating?"

"Ask this cursed house." I roll my eyes, grabbing a rag off the pile and moving to stand beside Charles, dabbing the beads of sweat from his forehead.

"Ben," Vivien shrieks," Ben, I need you!" I wince at the shrill tone, but I don't move from my spot beside Charles.

"Ben," I shout over my shoulder," get your happy ass over here and hold the bitch's hand!" His eyes were filled with tears and he looked ready to fall apart, but he crossed the room and knelt by her side, clasping one of her hands in both of his.

"I'm here," he murmurs against the back of her hand. "I'm right here with you, Viv."

"Who are they," Vivien demands, her voice barely more than a whimper.

"The only thing that matters is they're trying to help us. Okay? They're gonna get you through this and then we're all running away to Florida." I wipe at the sweat forming on Charles' brow again, keeping my gaze averted from where he was working. I didn't even like looking at myself naked from the waist down and I definitely didn't want to look at another woman in that state of undress. Besides, birth was even nastier than murder and the clean-up took even longer.

"I forgot how painful this is." My free hand rests on my belly, a deep ache throbbing in my chest as I realize for the thousandth time that I wouldn't even get the chance to feel that pain or the joy of holding a baby I'd brought into the world. All because of one man that couldn't keep his dick in his pants.

"Give her something," Constance whispers in my ear. "I know you and your brother have drugs stashed all over this house." I nod, handing her the rag and moving over to the fireplace. There was a small gap on the side of it, just big enough for the joint I kept in there. It was still good since I'd bought it off Travis just two weeks ago and it should be enough to mellow Vivien out a bit.

"Lighter," I say as I stand next Constance again, wiggling my fingers impatiently. She hands it over with a scowl, the metal cool against my palm. I move over to the couch and flick the lighter open, holding the flame against one end while the other went in her mouth. "Take a nice long breath, Vivien." She does it reluctantly, face screwing up at the taste and coughing it out a second later. "Oh, come on, you can do better than that. Show these kids their mom's a champ." She takes another hit, able to hold it a little longer this time and letting it out slowly.

"Can I," Ben asks, holding out a hand for the joint. I shrug and pass it to him, breathing in the smell and watching as the smoke curls in the flickering candlelight. I knew it stunk to most people, but it was a reminder of slow afternoons that Tate and I passed in the attic. We would sit beneath one of the windows and read poetry to one another, just relaxing into the high.

Another scream jerks me out of my recollection and I jump backwards out of Maria's way as she moves to wipe the sweat off of Vivien's face and neck. Ben was talking to her soothingly, words a little slurred from the pot, but the pain was still too much for his wife as she cried and screamed.

"You're doing wonderfully," Charles promises her. "Give me one more push." With a hellacious scream, Vivien pushes her first child out, Charles pulling it out and cradling the small body in his hands. I could tell from here, from the absolute silence and the look in Charles' eyes, that the baby would be a permanent resident of the house. "I'm sorry, Doctor Harmon, the baby is stillborn."

"Is it a boy or a girl," Vivien asks, exhausted and almost limp against the couch. I rest my hands on her shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze of reassurance.

"You'll just have to wait and find out," Constance says quietly. "Think of it as a fun surprise to get you through this." And the screaming starts up again, Charles rushing back over from handing the dead child to his wife. Nora would take care of it for now, though I doubt she'll keep the baby for long considering her other one is loose in the basement like the Minotaur. "Tabitha, honey, go comfort your brother." I meet Constance's gaze, blue and brown clashing together. "You know how he gets when he's upset."

"Yeah," I mumble, stepping away from the screaming, writhing woman," yeah, I'll go." I felt sick to my stomach, wanting nothing more than to know that I was worthy of any kind of love that wasn't screwed up or twisted upside down. My legs are unsteady as I start across the room, my breaths short and shaky. "Tate," I gasp, feeling like I was about to collapse.

It's a small cry that makes me stop in the doorway, loud and healthy and so wanted after the screaming. I turn, watching from my spot in the doorway as Constance wraps the baby up in a clean towel and starts for the kitchen. I could feel it just like I could feel it the other night, an unmistakable pulling from the newborn. _My nephew_. I step out of the way and follow Constance over to the kitchen sink, staring at the baby with wide eyes.

The baby was the most beautiful boy I've ever seen, his hair a pale gold and matted to his little head. He was covered in a white film and in dark red blood, his little hands balled into fists and shaking as Constance pats at him with a damp washcloth, the warm water washing away the grime of birth and revealing pink skin beneath. Moira comes to stand behind us, sniffling even as she smiled down at the baby.

"From blood and pain comes perfection," Constance whispers, running the cloth over the baby's head with a fond smile. She loved him too, her grandson quieting down under her hands.

"Hey, bitches," Hayden smirks as she appears in the kitchen. "You get all the mess off my baby?" A protective instinct flares within me as it does every time someone threatens the safety of someone I love, a deep fire in the pit of my stomach that made me lash out and hurt anyone in my path. With a growl, I storm over to her and grab her throat, transporting us down into the basement room that my father was still collapsed in,

"Look at him," I snarl, squeezing the back of her neck and making her bend to see the blackened blood still pouring from Hugo's mouth. "I did that with a few swings, Hayden, and that was just because he molested me and my twin for years. Now, take a moment to imagine what I'll do to your worthless ass if you lay so much as a finger on my nephew."

"You wouldn't dare. The house won't let you do anything to me." I give a dry laugh, shoving her forward and making her fall to the ground.

"I've been inside this house since the nineties, babe, I've given it more blood and pain than any other person here aside from my brother. If I wanted to, I could ask it to warp this room and trap you in here with only that rat for company and it would oblige because I'm a favorite. So, I'll say this just one last time, Hayden. Fuck with my family and I'll make you wish you'd never come here in the first place."

With that said, I appear back in the kitchen just beside Constance. The baby was still cradled in her arms, sound asleep and swathed in a fuzzy blue blanket that had been Tate's once upon a time. I could hear Ben crying in the other room, but any worry I felt for him was drowned out by the absolute love I felt for the little boy in my mother's arms. "Here," Constance says," you hold him for a bit." I've held plenty of kids in my time, but I've never experienced the tranquil warmth that enveloped me the second this one was in my arms. His eyes flicker open, staring up at me like he already knew who I was.

"Welcome to the world, handsome."


	19. Blood and Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who celebrates it, happy Thanksgiving. To everyone who doesn't, consider yourselves lucky because family gatherings make me wonder why murder isn't legal.

** 1977 **

It was late fall when Constance and Hugo pulled up in front of the small manor house, the babies sleeping in the backseat while Addie silently colored a picture for the nursery. The house was like something out of one of Constance's dreams, all fixed up and just waiting to be filled with Addie's laughs and the twins' cries. _I deserve this house_ , Constance thinks happily, _and everything that goes along with it_. She's worked far too hard in life; she should be allowed to raise her children in peace.

"You just gonna stare at it all day or are you gonna come in," Hugo asks with a grin. She grins back, hurrying to get out of their car with Addie scrambling out behind her. Adelaide may not be the perfect child Constance had wanted, but she was a sweet girl and would be a big help with the newborns. Well, as big a help as a seven year old could be anyway.

"That's our house," Addie questions, staring up at it in wonder.

"That's our house," Constance confirms. The lawn was still a pretty green and finally trimmed, the stained-glass windows fully repaired, the winding path that led to the front porch almost sparkling in the California sunlight. It was perfect and that's all that Constance wanted in life. A perfect husband, perfect children, and a perfect house to raise them all in. By the time she digs her purse out of the front floorboard, Addie's already inside and Hugo is well on his way with his arms full. "Wait," she calls, Hugo freezing just in front of the house.

"What is it," he asks with a laugh. "In case you haven't noticed, I've got our little munchkins to take in." Tate and Tabitha were snuggled close to his chest, sound asleep and unaware of what was going on around them.

"I want a picture of you three."

"Constance—"

"Oh, shush, it's a tradition." She pulls the camera out, waiting for Hugo to flash her a grin before snapping the picture. As if sensing that Constance wanted another picture, Tate scrunched up his slim nose and Tabitha uttered a small cry of discomfort. "Alright, get them inside before their crying upsets the neighbors." That was the last thing she needed, especially since the people across the street were the only good source of gossip in the neighborhood. Constance grabs the overnight back before shutting the car door and hurrying inside.

The interior of the house was just as picture-perfect as the outside had been, the wood floors polished to a beautiful shine, the Tiffany chandeliers giving out the perfect amount of light as to make the wooden trim gleam. The furniture was top of the line, the rugs freshly cleaned; all toys were still tucked away in the playroom, her babies' nursery was painted the exact shade of pastel green that she had chosen in the store, the cribs both white even if they weren't identical, and the changing table had the softest pad that was available.

She nods in satisfaction, wandering up the stairs and down the hall to the new nursery. Instead of Hugo being in there like she had expected, it was a young woman in a maid's uniform. She was leaning over Tate's crib, her long, pale fingers stroking the back of Tate's onesie. Constance had forgotten about Moira entirely, her thoughts mainly centering around whether they had enough diapers and how Beau would react to the newest members of the family.

Moira was beautiful and barely twenty-three, tall with almost faerie-like features muted by her carefully applied makeup, and dark red hair that was pinned in a nice bun at the nape of her neck. Her lips were curled up in a smile, pale pink and full like flower petals, and the cause of her smile was revealed when a tiny cooing noise came from Tate's crib.

"Moira," Constance says quietly to avoid waking her daughter," why don't you go downstairs and fix me a glass of lemonade?"

"Of course, Mrs. Langdon," Moira says agreeably, bowing her head a little as she walks out of the room. Constance watches her go, not at all liking the way the maid's hips swayed or how her uniform clung to her curves a little too much. Another faint sound drew Constance away from the door, her own smile softening her features as she picked up her baby boy. His hair was a soft gold and curled just the smallest amount, and he was warm as she cradled him in her arms. Such a small and wonderful little boy, no deformities or wrongness that made her curse God's jealousy.

Yes, her life was perfect and she would kill anyone who tried to disrupt it.

** 2010 **

"Learn from me," I read quietly, my nephew resting in my arms with his little eyes closed," if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge and how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow." Michael shifts in my arms, interrupting with a little sigh. "Yeah, maybe _Frankenstein_ 's a little much for you."

"What the hell are you doing with my son," Ben demands as he comes into his office. I keep the rocking chair going to ensure the baby doesn't wake up, my gaze shifting from his chubby little cheeks to the desperation and disgust in Ben's eyes.

"We both know he's not your son, Ben."

"That doesn't give you the right to put your filthy hands on him." I scoff, looking back to Michael with a faint smile. "Hand him over, Tabitha."

"Just… Just let me hold him for a little while longer." I can hear Ben letting out a sharp sigh, but he relents and drops down onto the couch with his head in his hands. "I was never able to have kids, you know? Something got messed up inside me when Hugo did what he did and I was forced to get my tubes tied as a teenager. This baby is as close as I'll ever get to knowing what it would feel like to have a child of my own."

"But he's not yours."

"I know." My words came out harsh and snappish, Ben flinching back on instinct. "You should have left him with Constance until the second you were ready to head to the airport."

"God, don't tell me you think the house will eat him, too."

"No, Michael will thrive in this house." I shake my head a little and finally meet his stare fully. "He was born amongst blood and death, born of a corpse who's been dead since 1994, and he'll cause more pain to the living than you can ever imagine."

"You're crazy, you and your mother both are out of your goddamn minds."

"Yeah, I'm a regular sociopath where most things are concerned. I'm able to kill whoever the hell I want without an inch of remorse, inflict damage that would give you nightmares for the rest of your life, and I won't feel a fuckin' thing. None of that will change the fact that I died in Violet's bathroom sixteen years ago."

"Jesus, you really believe that shit, don't you?"

"Trust me, you can forget a lot of things, but how you die isn't one of them." I rise from the chair and set the baby in his car seat, buckling him up securely before covering him with Tate's old blanket. "Get out before you lose more than your mind, Ben." And I allow myself to disappear, enjoying the bewildered expression on his face for a moment before leaving the room and its occupants behind.


	20. Whispering

**1994**

The weeks following mine and Tate's deaths were somber, Addie drifting from one room to the other with music always playing in a sort of tribute to the two of us. Music was blaring from Tate's stereo at all hours of the day, though it alternated between Cobain and Madonna with Addie sobbing her heart out into my favorite pillow. Constance didn't seem to notice for the first few days, kept out of the house by the funeral parlor or too drunk to give a damn that Vogue was playing at three in the morning.

It wasn't until week three that Constance forced herself up the stairs and into Tate's room, unplugging the stereo and cutting off the chorus of Come As You Are. Tate scowls at her, but seems to calm as I lay a hand on his arm, both of us watching on as Constance turns her narrowed gaze on our big sister.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing, Adelaide? You keep blaring that trash and the neighbors will call the cops again!"

"But they like it," Addie protests, tears still wet on her cheeks. "Remember? They played every day after school." Her voice was shaky as she fought to speak past a new wave of tears, hugging my pillow tighter against her chest. Constance's resolved crumbled in an instant, her hands trembling as she plugged the stereo back in and collapsed on Tate's bed beside Addie.

They stayed there for a while, lying in silence and cuddling like a real mother and daughter as they listened to the mixed tape I'd made for Addie's twenty-first birthday last year. I've never seen Constance's expression so open before, her heartbreak and loss on display for the whole world to see as she clung to my sister.

"Did she ever do that with us," Tate asks after a moment, brows furrowed.

"No," I mumble in reply," she didn't like touching us that much." Not since she shot Daddy point blank. Sure, she'd pat down our hair or give us a slap when we'd done something to deserve, but none of it was actually affectionate. "Come on, let them have their moment."

**2011**

The whispering had started up again, a deep voice hissing in my ear constantly and driving me further from sanity. It was the house, jealous and angry about losing any spec of life no matter how precious they were; it wanted the baby and it wanted Ben to die as soon as possible.

It wanted me to do the honors.

I walk into Ben's office, a gun tucked into the waistband of my jeans, tiny and cold against the small of my back, but hidden by my shirt. He was busy packing up Michael's diaper bag, not yet noticing that he wasn't alone in the room, humming some sort of lullaby to keep the baby from crying. "Ben," I say, voice soft and burdened with sadness. I wouldn't mind killing Ben, it might even be fun, but my nephew shouldn't have to grow up in this house. Ben straightens up and looks at me, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "We need to talk."

"No." He shakes his head with a cold determination burning in his eyes. "All I need to do is get me and my son out of this goddamn house." He managed to take one step towards the car seat before I forced him to stop with a single word. The house's magic was strong with Michael inside, seeping into every shadow and into the ghosts that were trapped inside. "What the hell?"

"You're not leaving this house again, it's against its wishes." His thick brows furrow as he stares at me, the bag thumping to the floor. "Sit down." He's able to fight the magic for a moment, but his legs eventually give out and he falls into the chair across from the couch. Knowing I had no other choice, I pull the revolver out and hold it in my hands. I've never shot a gun before, it felt less personal than killing someone with my bare hands.

"Please, Tabitha, you don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do." The voices would never stop if I didn't, they would grow louder and the house would use its magic to torture me until I was little more than an insect in my own home. "Hayden, take the baby away from here." The red-head steps out of the shadows, picking up the car seat and smiling down at Michael.

"No, leave him alone!"

"Take him upstairs to his real father and I might not beat you into a bloody pulp." Hayden gives me a dark look, only complying because the house was forcing her to. It was a fickle magic, sometimes only working when I focused everything I had on it and sometimes it came with ease.

"Before you murder me, answer me a question." I look up, finally meeting his gaze again with a frown. "Did I even help you at all?"

"A little, I guess. You probably would've been a lot more useful had you been around when I was still alive."

"How'd you die?" I hesitate, wincing as I remember the sting of water going up my nose and the burning in my chest when I ran out of air.

"Tate held me under the water until I was dead." He looked despondent, but far from resigned to his fate. I could feel him trying to assert his will, the warmth of it reminding me of summer campfires and toasted marshmallows; the feel of my mama's arms around me when I could still look at her without feeling betrayed. But it didn't change anything, his will was nothing compared to that of the house. "I'll make it quick." I move to stand beside him, forcing him to grasp the pistol and rest the barrel against his temple. The noise that followed was almost deafening, a harsh crack that echoed throughout the house and deep in my brain. Crimson and gray mixed against the floor and the windows, a morbid spray against the stained-glass similar to the way madness stained the property.

And Ben Harmon was no more.

* * *

"Let me guess," Constance states as she wanders into Ben's office, scowling down at the fresh corpse," you just couldn't help yourself, could you?" I shrug, leaning against the doorframe with my hands in my pockets. "Alright, I'll call the cops and have them dispose of the body."

"Sounds good," I mutter, still not meeting her gaze.

"And where is my grandson?"

"With his father, I assume." I can feel Constance's glare, the heat of it boring into my chest as I look at my shoes. "He can't leave this house, Constance, not now." There would be pain if he left, a horrible, aching need to reclaim him and the darkness that was warping his soul just like it warped all of ours'.

"I will not let my grandbaby be raised in this monstrosity of a house, I refuse!" I do meet her glare now, calm and completely relaxed for the first time since I died.

"Why not? Most of your other kids are here, so Michael will make a great addition." She flinched, clasping her hands tightly in the skirt of her dress. It must be hot outside or she just wanted to look cute this morning because I usually only see that dress on special occasions during the summer. "The house always gets what it wants."

"Not this time." She storms out of the office and up the stairs to the second floor while I appear in the attic seconds ahead of her. Tate was seated in an old rocking chair with Michael wrapped up in his arms, gently rocking to keep the baby asleep. "Give me that baby or so help me, I'll—"

"You'll what," Tate challenges without raising his voice too much. "In case you haven't noticed, there's not much you can do to me that's worse than death."

"I'm sure I can think of something if you don't hand over that child." The whispering had started again, Tate and I tilting our heads to the side to hear it better. It was calmer now that Ben was dead, a soothing noise that filled our heads and blossomed into thoughts of our own.  _Just give her the baby, let her raise another monster_. Tate and I share a look, the house's wish clear in our minds as if it were our own.

"He'll turn out even worse than us, you know." Constance snatches Michael out of my brother's grasp, holding him protectively. "There's nothing you can do to stop it."

"He was brought into this world among the dead," I add," born to lead armies and cause destruction until the end of days. Good luck, Constance."

"You're gonna need it."


	21. A Chance

** 2011 **

"Let me get this straight," I say, waving my hands a little to get the Harmons to back the fuck up. "You want me to help you guys get the new family out of the house before they're all brutally murdered?" Vivien and Ben share a look and then a nod, the way they did it all in unison only making it creepy. "So, we're basically Ghostbusters except in reverse?"

"Exactly," Ben confirms.

"And why should I help you guys do anything?"

"Well, there is the little matter of you forcing me to commit suicide."

"I hate to burst your bubble, but that's far from the worst thing I've done in this house." He gives me that patented Parent Stare, the one that made teenagers—even dead ones—feel scolded without him having to say a word. "Fine, but only because I'm tired of making their son fly off his skateboard." You could only to that so many times without wanting to just break the stupid board in two and be done with it.

"Do you think you can get Tate on board," Vivien asks, arching a brow.

"Nope, he's still pining after your baby girl. You know, listening to sad music, reading depressing poetry, and skulking around in the attic."

"Alright, well, we got most of the others to help out. I guess start wherever you want and don't kill anyone." I smirk, sauntering out of my old room and across the hall to the teenaged boy. He was pretty cute, maybe a year younger than I had been when I died, brown hair dark and soft as it fell over his forehead, skin a light brown and smooth.

I kneel on the edge of the bed, bending down to start whispering in his ear all the delicious things waiting for him. The boy, Gabriel, gives a small groan and rolls onto his back, allowing me to run a hand over his chest. He wasn't as filled out as some boys were, but he had a lithe, skater's body that was hard and warm beneath my palm.

"You want that, don't you," I ask, lips brushing against the shell of his ear and making him shiver. "You want to wrap a girl up in your arms and show her just how strong you can be?" He moans, unconsciously arching under my hand. "Then you need to go wait for your parents outside. Leave your bags and meet then out in your car." His brow furrows, the persuasion not quite holding up as the house grows restless around us.

He jerks upright in bed, breathing in sharply as he spots someone behind me. Curious, I look over my shoulder and spot Tate sitting in the rocking chair with one foot resting against the end of the bed. "Bet I could tell you what you were dreamin' about," my twin states, looking far too comfortable in the chair.

"Goddamn it," I complain," can't you see I'm working?" Gabe jumps when I allow him to see me, brown eyes wide and frightened.

"Sorry, Tabby Cat, but I'm working, too." Tate's gaze returns to the teen beside me, full of dull rage and the pain that was fracturing his heart as we speak. "You were dreaming about Violet, weren't you?"

"What the hell are you two doing in my room," Gabe demands, edging away from me.

"This used to be my room and then it was Violet's." Tate gives a small huff of laughter, tugging gently on one of his curls. "You wouldn't believe half the things I've done in this room with the girls I love. She was the first." He nods at me and Gabe spares me a look.

"Don't worry," I assure him with a smile," Tate doesn't mind sharing me from time to time." I take one of Gabe's hands and rest it on my waist, running the fingers of my free hand through his soft hair. It had some curl to it, but not as much as my brother's did. "Tell me something, have you ever been with a woman yet? I'll bet you're a virgin."

"Won't be for long if Tabby has her way."

"Don't worry," Gabe states, trying his best to stay calm as he yanked his hand back," I get it. I'll keep my hands to myself and I won't touch your girls."

"Nah, I don't think you understand at all." His gaze flickers to me and I can see the plan forming in his mind as if it were my own. He knew Violet thought the new kid was interesting, he'd give her whatever she wanted even if it wasn't him. Tate wants to murder Gabe so that Violet can have a boyfriend. "Tabby, why don't you wait for us outside?" I opened my mouth to suggest Tate go fuck himself, but a scream cuts off my remark.

"Mom!" Gabe bounded off the bed, but Tate had him thrown to the ground before he even made it to the door.

"You're not going anywhere!" Gabe's mom was screaming down the hall, but the others would keep her busy while I tried to control my twin. "You'll make Violet happy, I know you will."

"Tate," I say with a warning in my tone. "He's not Violet's type and you know it." I don't spare Gabe a second look as I step over him and rest my hands on Tate's shoulders, making him meet my stare. "Baby, she likes the dark ones, she likes you. Gabe would just be boring for her."

"No, you're wrong. You're wrong!" He shoves me out of the way, my back hitting the wall hard enough for me to see stars.

"Fuck me," I groan, rubbing the back of my head where blood was welling to the surface. It was bad enough that I couldn't kill anyone tonight, but being shoved by my own brother snapped the camel's back in fucking two. "Violet, get in here and control your wild dog!" I storm out of the room, not waiting around to see what happened between Tate and Gabe. A shrill scream gave me a second's warning before Gabe's mother came running out of the master bathroom, jumping back against the wall when she spots me. "Stay here long enough and the house will kill you just like it did the rest of us."

"Stay away from me," she shrieks and starts sprinting down the hall. Ben and I meet up at the top of the stairs, both of us taking them two at a time and then walking over to the basement door.

"I'm so tired."

"You're only getting what you deserve," he mumbles to me as we start down the rickety stairs into the darkness. "This is punishment for all the people you've killed."

"I've only killed two people that wasn't self-defense, you know." I turn my head to look at him, reaching out to adjust the mask of the rubber suit that he wore. "The other three were abusers like Hugo."

"Come on, let's get this over with." We found the mother crouched in the basement, screaming her husband's name over and over again as she looked at us in fear. I couldn't blame her, I was dripping wet because of how I was murdered and Ben cut an imposing form in the black latex.

"I was murdered," I mumble, talking to the woman now as Ben moves to the side of the room. "My twin brother did it because he hates being alone and he didn't want me to be alone either. What about you, lady? Do you want to die, too?"

"Stacy," cries her husband. I look at him over my shoulder, grinning as Ben tackles him to the ground before he could reach me. Stacy charges forward, but it's all too easy for me to stop her with a simple punch to the stomach, the woman doubling over with a choked gasp. It wasn't a hard punch, but it was just enough to leave her defenseless so that Ben could wrap his arms around her and pull her close. "No, leave her alone!"

"Why?" Miguel pushes me out of his way, but I appear in front of him again, making him jump back in fear. "I'm younger than she is, Miguel." I sidle up to him running a hand down his toned chest like I used to do to James March, my nails barely scratching him. "I bet I'm tighter than she is. Wouldn't you like to slam me against the wall and fuck me right here?"

"Back the fuck off, you freak!" He shoves me again and yanks his wife out of Ben's hold just in time for Vivien to come storming down the stairs.

"What the fuck," Vivien demands, looking at Ben and I like we were the real weirdos in the house. "They haven't even been here two days and you two are already terrorizing them?" Ben removes the mask and tosses it to the side, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Who the hell are you people?"

"He used to be my husband and she was the little skank from next door."

"Now I'm just the little skank that lives in the attic," I quip, wringing out the skirt of my dress. "She's just jealous that her husband would rather lock her away in the looney bin and fuck me instead of dealing with their issues." Vivien sends me her Mom Look and I shrug, not seeing the big deal in lying now. "What? It's the truth and you know it."

Vivien strikes without warning when Ben's gaze lands on me, burying a knife in his chest and yanking downward. Latex and flesh alike split under the force, Ben letting out a cry of pain as his intestines fall out onto the floor. "Oh God, I've been wanting to do that since I caught you with Hayden." She throws the knife, the blade embedding itself in my shoulder and making me fall to the ground with a shout.

"Fuck! A little warning would be nice!" With a wince, I stand and ignore the sound of a gunshot, pulling the knife out slowly and watching as my wound started to heal itself. "Little advice," I tell the living couple still huddled together," don't fuck a crazy woman's husband because it just leads to awkward silences and random stabbings." Vivien and Ben rise up off the ground, their own wounds healing slower than my own as we all turn to face the couple.

"This is what this house does to you," Ben tells them solemnly.

"It takes all your reasons for living and grinds them into dust."

"Run," Vivien says hoarsely," while you're still able to." The words had barely left her mouth when the couple sprinted out of the basement, yelling for their son and slamming doors in their haste to get away from us. It's quiet for a second, then none of us seem to be able to stop the laughing fit.

"Too bad we can't make a career out of this."

"Yeah, cause stabbing you two was really fun."

"I call dibs on stabbing ghosts next time someone moves in, though."

** 2012 **

I move slowly through the house, following the sound of awful Christmas music until I enter the living room and find the others. The Harmons and Moira were all gathered around the Christmas tree, Violet and Moira decorating while Ben and Vivien gushed over their newest addition. "Were you guys too impatient to wait for me and Michael or something," I ask with a smile.

"I didn't think Constance would let you have him," Vivien says when she notices us. The baby in my arms gave her a happy smile, all bundled up in his little reindeer sweater and pants, his little hands covered in mittens and a beanie keeping his head warm.

"It's easy to talk her into things when she's exhausted." After a year of being forced to work together, the Harmons and I had finally started getting along. I was nowhere near close to joining their little family, but at least we weren't the Capulets and Montagues anymore. "Besides, he's always on his best behavior when I've got him for the night." There was still that clinging sense of dread that pulled at me when I laid my eyes on my nephew, but the love I felt for him was stronger. "He looks a little like you, Vivien."

"Does he?" I move to stand next to her, letting her see the way his cheekbones favored hers and the blue-gray eyes that belonged to her. "He's as beautiful as his brother." Jeffrey was cradled in Ben's arms, as quiet as he usually was and completely relaxed.

"He's also a little handful somedays." Michael makes a sound of disgruntlement and I smile down at him, bouncing him slightly to quiet him. "I figured that you'd like to see him every now and then since you're the one who gave birth to him.” I set him down, smiling wider as he grasps my fingers tightly and bounces in place by himself, not quite up to walking just yet.

"He'll be running around this place before too long," Ben says fondly.

"Yeah, he will, but he's not allowed out of our sight. I don't trust this house not to swallow him whole." As if he understood what I'd said, Michael tilts his head back and looks up at me with his wide eyes that were far too intelligent for a baby who's only one. It's like he knew things that he shouldn't, understood everything going on around him with a plan to use the information at a later date. It was the same way Tate looked at things. "Come on, little man," I say as I meet his gaze," let's go find your daddy."

It wasn't hard to find Tate, the blond curled up in his favorite corner of the attic with his knees drawn up to his chest. He didn't move until Michael patted his leg, then a bright smile made his face light up and he quickly wrapped Michael up in his arms. "Hey, Monster," Tate greets with a laugh, standing up and raising the baby over his head. "Did you have fun at Constance's?"

"Daddy," Michael shouts, bopping Tate lightly on his nose.

"That's right, I am your daddy." Tate moves to stand next to me, all of us positioned by a window so we could see the snow softly falling outside. "And who's that, Mikey?" Tate points at me and Michael holds out his arms until I take him, one of his hands fisting in the material of my Christmas shirt.

"Mommy!" I stare at my nephew in shock for a moment, not expecting to be called that in the slightest. I'd figured Constance would have been teaching him to call her that, but obviously the baby felt otherwise. He'd called her nanny when she dropped him off earlier, waving bye until she was back in her house. "Mommy, lips!" One of his fingers tap my bottom lip and the hopefulness overwhelms the surprise. Maybe he'd turn out normal if we just raised him right. Maybe he'd be okay after all.

"Sure, Monster, I can be your mommy." He rests his head against my shoulder, looking out the window while Tate and I lock gazes. He was smiling still, brown eyes glistening with happy tears as he took in the sight of me holding Michael.

"Daddy, 'mere." Tate takes a step closer on instinct, Michael adjusting himself in my arms until he was able to grasp one of Tate's fingers and hold it tightly like a teddy bear. "My daddy." He looks up at me with his dimpled grin, puckering up and wiggling until I gave him the kiss he was waiting for. "Love, Mommy."

"I love you more, Mikey." He rests his head against my shoulder again, Tate wrapping his free arm around my waist so that I was forced to snuggle close to him. It was nice, Michael's warmth enough to make me feel like I was alive again. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend that Tate and I had never died and that Michael was our baby; he'd have my lips and eyes, Tate's slim nose and beautiful curls, and he'd be a gorgeous tan from spending an hour or so every other day at the beach.

And for that moment, the three of us watching the snow and listening to the Christmas songs drifting through the house, I really felt like we had a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear that I meant to post this a few days ago, but I got sick and I'm weighing the pros and cons of taking my broke ass to the doctor's office (cons are winning out tbh).


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